


To Feel You Underneath My Skin

by fairygrrl45



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Allusion to Child negligence, Allusion to prostitution, Angst, Bonding, F/M, M/M, Mild Language, UST, Violence, allusion to drug use, discussion of mental health issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-08
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 13:08:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2026266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairygrrl45/pseuds/fairygrrl45
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Few, The Proud, The Brave, and The Bonded. The Marines have called one Jared Padalecki to Taipei Taiwan to be part of an infantry branch that fights the rebel factions and renegade militia of the People's Republic of China. His XTRA gene just means he's got one more reason to sign up, and he's prepared for anything. That is, until he meets Sergeant Jensen Ackles and everything goes to shit. Jared never imagined that bonding meant so much. Jensen never thought he'd find another person in the world who fit him quite like his first. They both have a lot to learn about what it means to be a part of The Few, The Proud, and The Brave, and what it means to be a bonded pair, fighting not just for their own lives, but each others as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please go give my artist some love! It really does bring the work to life.: http://6magic-bitch.livejournal.com/14532.html

  


# PART 1

  
  


JARED  
  
When it comes to assignments Jared figures he could’ve done worse than Taiwan. At least it’s not freezing here like it was in BT. It’s humid as hell; bugs are constantly buzzing around his ears, his mouth is dry, and he can feel a drop of sweat roll down his spine to settle into the already damp waistband of his marine-issued camo pants, but he can feel his fingers and fuck if that’s not an improvement.  
  
Jared surreptitiously inspects the marines to the left and right of him. He doesn’t really recognize any of them. He'd kept relatively quiet on the ride from the airport to the base and he guesses rightfully so, ‘cause none of the guys standing out here look anything like chatty. Besides, every conversation between marines inevitably ends up being about the same three things: the pussy they haven't gotten but plan to get as soon as possible, missing home and momma's cooking, and how ready they are to get into the shit out in the field.  
  
Jared could have that whole damn conversation with himself.  
  
He looks up, thoughts interrupted at the sound of boots shuffling against the dirt, and snaps to attention with his duffle over his shoulder like everyone else when he sees the Sergeant heading their way. He’s mean faced, wide shouldered, and loud, and Jared nearly smiles with the familiarity of it. It’s almost like Basic all over again.  
  
“Alright, Boots, I’m here to give you the grand ol’ tour and then point you to your barracks. But I don’t do asswipin’ and I sure as hell don’t say things twice, so keep up and look sharp, cause I’m walkin’ you around once and only once. You understand that?”  
  
The “Yessir!” is automatic and collective, and Jared’s heartbeat settles a bit in his chest. He knows this. He can do _this_.  
  
They walk around the base a bit and Sarge points out the chow hall, the infirmary, barracks, and artillery. He tells them about places to get civvies and better food about a mile’s walk south, and then takes them to the barracks.  
  
“Get your shit packed away, and clean up. Chow time at 1900 hours.”  
  
“Yessir!”  
  
Jared follows his fellow marines into the barracks and tosses his duffle onto the first top rack he sees. He knows from experience that bottom bunk doesn’t work for him, what with being 6’2 and all.  
  
“Dude!” he hears from behind before feeling a rather rough “tap” on his shoulder. He turns with an eyebrow raised, but the guy must not get that it’s an eyebrow of extreme irritation and that it means fuck off because he continues to talk.  
  
“I totally called top bunk earlier, man!”  
  
Jared doesn’t know whether to tell him to fuck off, to let him know he’s actually a twelve year old, or to just ignore him. He takes a closer look at the guy to decide. 

He’s a bit squinty. He could totally not be right in the head, god knows it happens enough. But he _really_ needs the top bunk, here. And this guy is at least three inches shorter than him.  
  
He decides to take his chances.

He shakes his head. “Nah, I don’t think so.”  
  
“What do ya mean, you don’t think so? I said it earlier. Everybody heard me say it, when Sarge was yammerin’ away about cleaning something on Thursdays.”  
  
“Oh, well, guess I’m not everybody. Too busy actually listening to my superiors.” Jared turns his back to the weirdo. He actually does remember hearing someone yell out “shoddy top” but it’d been completely out of context, and really, no one took that kind of shit seriously.  
  
Jared feels another tap on his shoulder.  
  
“Look man,” he starts, turning, but the squinty douche cuts him off.  
  
“No, you look. I called top bunk, and I want top bunk. Your giant ass’ll probably fall through and suffocate me!”  
  
Jared doesn’t even dignify that ridiculous comment with a response. He’s getting agitated. And the guy keeps fucking... _tapping_ him. He shrugs away from his touch, and furrows his brow.  
  
“You’re not getting top bunk, Squint. No way, no how. I don’t care if you called your pet pig all the way from Kalamazoo. Go find some other dipshit to con or take the bottom, I don’t care which. But hear this... Touch me again and we’re going to have issues.”  
  
Jared knows he can look intimidating. It’s not so much about his size, he thinks, though he knows if he were to put on a couple dozen pounds of muscle it would be. Lots of people are tall. He just happens to be tall as well as imposing. Jeff used to tell him, back when he was around, that if he smiled half as much as he frowned he’d probably have a few more friends. Whatever. Jared didn’t need friends. Still doesn’t. That’s why when Squint walks away, shooting him a dirty, look he doesn’t even blink.

Jared just dumps all of his shit onto his bunk in order to sort it out and put it into the designated box under the bottom bunk. He hears Squint trying to negotiate quietly and failing miserably. By the time Jared’s done, he’s standing in front of his bunk again.  
  
“Right, so…this is the only one left, Stretch,” he says, shrugging.  
  
Jared raises his eyebrows.  
  
“Obviously.” He folds his arms across his chest.  
  
Squint sighs. “So…we have to share.”  
  
Jared shrugs. “I don’t care if we share, Squint, you just can’t have top bunk. I mean besides the fact that in about two seconds I’m going to be sitting on it, I’ve already fucked up the sheets.”  
  
“No, I know. I get it, it’s…whatever, just…you know?”  
  
Jared shakes his head slightly because he really, really doesn’t.  
  
Squint sighs again and sticks out his hand. “Sorry I was an asshole. I have this thing about being too close to the ground. Like…the wood with the crazy shit on the floor…my knuckles drag in my sleep and I get-uhhh…” he cuts himself off. “I’m Chad.”  
  
After a few seconds Jared breaks his poker face to smile slightly, because this Chad is a babbler and it’s kind of hilarious. He takes his hand.  
  
“Jared.”  
  
“Jay-red.”  
  
“No. Jared.”  
  
“Jay-bird.”  
  
“No, Squint…Jared.”  
  
“Where the fuck did you get Squint from?” Chad asks him.  
  
“Really?” Jared asks skeptically.  
  
Chad grins. “Nah.”  
  
He punches Jared on the shoulder, and damnit, where the hell did his personal space go?  
  
Jared backs up a little into the bunks before deciding to just get on. He swings an arm over the side and climbs up, legs dangling into the space between the top and bottom bunks.  
  
Chad swats his legs out of the way to get in under him.  
  
“I can see how much your gangly ass is going to get on my nerves already.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, love you too honey.” Jared murmurs, trying to get comfortable. They’ve got forty minutes of down time to get cleaned up before chow and he intends to use twenty of them napping. He feels like his brain is made of lead.

&&&

JENSEN  
  
Sergeant Jensen Ackles bends his arm, sets his rifle against his shoulder, squinting one eye through his scope at the center of his target. He takes a deep breath, in then out. He squeezes his trigger once, twice, three times, before swinging his arm back down to his side for a second and pulling back up again. The kickback is a little rough on his shoulder today, but he ignores it. Isn’t the first time, and won’t be the last. Jensen prepares to shoot another round, but he hears a call for ceasefire and lets his arm drop to his side instead, turning to see what the holdup is. He’s only gotten through a third of the shots he’s meant to and he doesn’t appreciate it when his target practice is interrupted.  
  
When he looks back Chris is banging on the thick soundproof glass, mouthing Jensen’s name obnoxiously, yelling probably, even though he knows Jensen won’t hear. Jensen rolls his eyes, puts down his rifle, and pokes his head out of the door that leads into the shooting range.  
  
“What do you want, Kane?”  
  
“Just you, Jenny-boy. Staff Sergeant says you’ve got to go out to meet the new grunts. Four of ‘em are in Delta 2.”  
  
“Ugh, really?”  
  
“Hey, now,” Chris says genially, throwing an arm across Jensen’s shoulders, angling him away from the shooting range and out the door. “We like fresh blood, remember? Means less dirty work for us.”  
  
“Yeah, maybe, but you know how much I hate all of the fucking questions.”  
  
Chris just hums in response.  
  
“There’s three subs in this batch, son.”  
  
Jensen sighs. “And?”  
  
“And you’re not going to be able to avoid bonding this time. You know they’re gonna make you. After last year, they’re not going to take no for an answer, Jen. You’re a Sergeant now; too valued, too skilled, and too damn good of a shot for them to let you go out there, guns blazing without any kinda protection.”  
  
“Kane, you’re not the first to give me this speech.”  
  
“And I won’t be the last, so shut your trap and listen to what I’m trying to tell ya. Your ass almost got killed and you’re gonna take a sub. If I was you I’d try to make sure it was my choice. I’ve heard the stories about pairs that get thrown together without any say-so and they ain’t pretty.”  
  
Jensen just grunts in response. He really doesn’t want to talk about this shit right now…or ever.  
  
“Okay, fine. Ignore me. See where it gets you, asshole.” Chris says, jostling him by the shoulders before striding into the barracks.  
  
“Alright, ladies! Look alive, introductions are comin’.”  
  
Jensen watches the new marines sit up a little straighter at Kane’s order; sees their shoulders tighten and their jaws lock up.  
  
Marines are taught to be hard-asses, but somehow new marines look softer every season. This batch (despite the squaring of jaws, and the blankness of faces) looks fresh faced and eager; young, like they’re barely out of puberty.  
  
Jensen ignores the pang of regret that echoes through his chest and opens his mouth instead.  
  
“I’m Sergeant Ackles and this is Sergeant Kane. I heard there’re four grunts in this batch. Y’all are mine. Those of you not in infantry belong to Sergeant Kane. You’ll get everything you need to know from him. The other four of you, get up and follow me.”  
  
Jensen turns pointedly and steps outside of the barracks. Once the four of them are standing outside, glare of the sun in their eyes, bright and unyielding, Jensen speaks again.  
  
“Okay, I want rank, names, and then-” he starts, stops…he sighs because asking this feels like giving in but he recognizes that at the very least he needs to know who’s being added to the pool of choices for them to force him to bond with. He needs to know what he’s working with.  
  
“And then I need ya’ll to tell me which of you are subs.”  
  
He nods and they snap to attention.  
  
“Private First Class Murray reporting for duty, sir. I am a trained subservient soldier, sir.”  
  
“Private First Class Welling, here, sir. I am also a trained sub.”  
  
“Private First Class Collins, reporting for duty. I am not a sub, sir.”  
  
“Private First Class Padalecki, here, sir. I am a subservient soldier, sir.”  
  
Jensen nods. Okay. Three for four. 

  
“Alright, good. You know where chow is, and where the shooting range is. You won’t be moving barracks. This here is Delta 2. First and foremost after all higher ranking officers, you answer to me. Got it?”  
  
“Aye, sir.”  
  
“Aye, sir.”  
  
“Chow time in fifteen. Get your boots on right, clean up, and come over to the hall to eat with the rest of your company.”  
  
“Yessir.”

+++

Jensen goes back to his quarters to dress down and wash up for dinner, letting his mind drift a bit as he falls into the steady regimen of scrubbing gun oil from under his fingernails, quickly shaving off his five o’clock shadow, and swiping a wet rag across his sweaty, dirt streaked face.

A crisp knock comes sudden and loud against his door. It startles him, makes him jump slightly, and he nicks his chin with his cheap-ass razor.  
  
“Mother Fucker,” he mutters softly, but apparently not soft enough because his Staff Sergeant bursts into his quarters with a sly grin on his face and one thick eyebrow cocked.

“Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”  
  
“Only on Sundays, Sergeant Morgan,” Jensen says, shaking off his irritation and wiping his face again.  
  
“I heard through the grapevine you met the new marines.”  
  
“Must be one fast fucking grapevine,” Jensen says as he walks across the room, and sits on his bunk to lace up his boots.  
  
“Don’t be a smartass.”  
  
“Yes sir, I did,” Jensen says, rolling his eyes.  
  
“Met the new subs.”  
  
“...Yes sir.”  
  
Morgan gives him this steady look that always makes Jensen squirm, but he doesn’t look away ‘cause he’s no pussy. He’s not sure Morgan finds what he’s looking for, though, because all he does is sigh.  
  
“Sergeant Ackles, you know I respect you and all that you do for our corp.”

“Of course, sir.”

“And so it’s with that respect that I’m telling you: don’t be a dumbass.”

“Sir?”

“Pick a sub, Ackles. Kane told me you might give a hard time. Eventually the higher ups, higher’ n me, _will_ assign you one whether you like it or not. It’s been my experience that picking your own goes much smoother, son.”  
  
Jensen doesn’t want to be rude, doesn’t want to say something he’ll regret later, so he keeps his mouth shut and nods.  
  
Staff Sergeant Morgan gives him a hearty slap on the back, knocking Jensen off balance a bit and pushing him sideways a few inches. Goddamned roughhousing bastard.  
  
“Good man,” he says. “You’ve got a week to come back with a decision or be given one. You better get to know your new grunts pretty damn well, Sergeant. S’far as I know the pool’s slim pickings this season."

Jensen clenches his jaw and nods again, more resigned than anything else this time. After all, he’s a generally rational person. And more than that, he’s a marine. He knows when to fall back and regroup, and he knows when he’s been beat. He’ll choose a sub, but he won’t go any further than the initial war-bond; he’ll do what’s required and nothing more.

  
Nothing more ever again.

&&&

JARED

He wasn’t prepared for how loud the hall would be. There are so many people, so many men, crowded on top of each other, squeezing into these long, benched tables. Elbows are knocking, and hips are touching. The ovens in the back make the already sticky heat in the air even warmer, thicker in Jared’s lungs. 

He feels his left eye start to twitch. It’s like hell. Only worse because he’s sitting next to Chad.

Why the fuck did he think it was a good idea to make nice with this guy? 

Jared sighs as he takes another bite of…whatever it is they slopped onto the big part of his tray. It’s some kind of meat product…he thinks. He doesn’t look at it too closely just in case he doesn’t want to know. He just eats it, and with gusto. He’s eaten much worse, so it doesn’t really matter much to him. But it does matter to Chad, apparently.

“Dude, what _is_ this shit?” he whines, poking at the mushy substance.

“Just eat, Squint.”

“I think I have a right to know what’s going inside me.”

“Squint, this is all you’re getting.”

And he knows that. He went to BT just like the rest of them. Jared doesn’t get why he’s being a prissy little bitch but it’s not cute, and it’s not entertaining, it’s just irking him. 

“I know, but-”

“I wouldn’t ask, if I were you.” Jared shoots him a look, before turning his face back towards the table.

Chad gives the food another probing look before taking a forkful and shoving it into his mouth unceremoniously. He swallows thickly and then says: “It tastes like-”

“Swallow faster and you won’t taste anything but your own spit,” Jared says, sighing. God this conversation is already getting tiresome. His head is pounding and his skin feels like it’s stretched uncomfortably tight over his bones. His hands may or may not be shaking. 

He takes a deep breath and sets his fork on his tray before squeezing his hands into fists to stop his stupid trembling before someone notices. Jared’s not really made for this kind of close contact with people. Not people he doesn’t know, anyway, and sometimes not even them. But he tries because it’s what everyone expects of him, and because flying solo isn’t really what the marines are about. 

He turns his head to the side, slightly away from Chad, and takes a quick look at Welling. He’s a hulk of a man, about Jared’s height, but wider, thicker. He seems like a “strong and silent” type; probably short on words. He hasn’t said much of anything at all actually, since they’ve gotten here.

That’s perfect. Jared can make “conversation”, “get to know his platoon”, without having to actually talk all that much.

And maybe if he weren’t so massive and encroaching in Jared’s breathing room the smile Jared gives him would be a little less strained but that’s beside the point because Welling smiles back. Jared can feel his burning curiosity, his discomfort (and slight anxiousness) prickle against his skin like a ladybug crawling back and forth across the palm of his hand. He rubs his palms together roughly under cover of the table, and then opens his mouth.

“Hey, I’m Jared…Padalecki, but Jared’s fine.”

“Tom-”

“Welling, I know. I heard when the Sarge made us…”

“Right, right. Yeah, I didn’t really expect that,” Welling says, shaking his head a little.

“Didn’t expect what?” 

“Sarge to just have us lay it out like that, y’know? Tell him if we were subs. I mean, it’s no big deal, I know people find out anyway, I’d just hoped-”

“Just hoped it wouldn’t be before you were bonded?” Chad jumps in to say, snidely. “I know. I hate the fuckin’ looks I get. Plus, it was a little weird, right?” He frowns.  “Maybe he’s looking for a sub.”

“He’s a Sergeant, Murray. I’m pretty sure he’s been in the corp. long enough to have gotten bonded already,” Collins says from across the table.

“Well, maybe he picks who gets bonded with who,” Chad says, gesturing wildly with his fork.

“That’s not how it works,” Welling says, shaking his head again.

“Well, then how _does_ it work?” Chad asks, a little impatiently. 

Jared, a little impatient as well, nods along, silently. He’s never asked, and no one’s ever told him how the system works. He only knows the basics; the general idea being you’re here for some time before you get matched up with a few superiors. You get to voice your preference at some point, but only once, and then there’s some kind of test before you’re bonded.

Then the real fun begins. 

He’s heard horror stories like anyone else, but he doesn’t know details, and he likes to go into things with his eyes completely wide fucking open, so he’ll take anything he can get. He tries to tune out the pounding in his head and the buzzing on his skin in order to pay close attention to what’s being said, even as he takes another bite of food to seem slightly disinterested. No need to look as fucking eager as Chad does right now.

“I hear it’s like a lottery type deal. You get matched up on paper with as many superiors as they can that fit physically, y’know? Then you get picked by whichever one claims you first.” Welling says.

“Then?” Chad prompts.

“Well, then you meet up with the one that claimed you, and they test other stuff, like…compatibility shit. Then the trial.”

“That sounds like it takes a lot of time,” Jared adds, quietly. He didn’t know they took such care in things like this. The military isn’t generally big on caring.

“Yeah, it also sounds like a load of bull. There’s no way they leave a window of time that wide for people to run chickenshit. The whole thing could go tits up at the slightest hint of trouble.”

“You guys talking ‘bout the war-bonds?” some guy from the next table over asks.

“Yeah,” Misha says. “What’s it to you?” he raises a sardonic eyebrow.

“Nothing to me. I’m not a sub,” his gaze shoots over to Chad, then Jared, then Tom. “But I know a bit about the bonds ‘cause my Pop worked for the Air Force and had to take a sub.”

“Yeah?” Chad questions gruffly. Jared can tell that the look the guy threw them ruffled his feathers a bit. He’s noticing Chad’s sort of sensitive that way.

“Yeah, man. He had one the whole time he was in the Force and said the first time he bonded it was fast even though it hurt like hell. Patty was her name. I never was a fan of ‘em myself. I mean, the idea of having someone in your head all the time, or not being able to feel shit kind of creeps me out y’know?”

“Yeah…” Tom says a little quieter than before. “Yeah, I know.”

“Hey, but don’t let me scare you off, now. You joined the corp. for a reason, y’know? We all did. You signed on the dotted line twice to be more ‘n just a soldier. No turning back now.”

The guy grins wryly before turning back to his table to laugh at some unheard joke, and Jared feels a little nauseous at his words. 

“Well, that’s a warm welcome if I ever heard one.” Chad says, breaking the tension. Everyone trades grim smiles and gets back to choking down their food. 

Jared’s just settled down enough to try and finish off his meal when Chad elbows him in the side _hard_.

“God, what the fuck did I say about personal space!?”

“Don’t be a pussy. Look.” Chad points toward the chow line and Jared follows his gaze to the Sergeant from earlier; their platoon Sergeant.

“It’s Sergeant Ackles.”

“Yup,” Jared says back, not really sure what the deal is.

“So, he seemed like a bit of a hardass before.”

“We’re in the military, Squint. Everyone’s a hardass.”

“Sure, but…I don’t know…Like Welling said, just coming out and demanding we tell him is a bit much, yeah?”

“S’not confidential.”

“I know that but he has to know that we don’t just go shouting that shit out to anyone.”

Jared snorts indelicately.

“He probably does. He probably just doesn’t care.”

Chad sighs. “Yeah.”

The table descends into blessed silence for a good few minutes, nothing but the sound of jaws moving and silverware clattering. Then the Sergeant comes over, and sits right next to Misha at the end of the table and everyone’s falling all over themselves to greet him hello.

“Sir.”

“Sir.”

“Evenin’ Sir.”

Sergeant Ackles nods his head genially but doesn’t dawdle in formalities. Instead he tucks into his food like everyone else, and waves away a fellow Sergeant when he looks at him funny.

“So…” he starts, and Jared feels everyone at the table tense. He ducks his own head down further to rest it in the palm of his hand, his elbow sliding rough against the grainy wood of the table with the added weight.

“How are you, Padalecki?”

Jared starts a little at hearing his last name spoken so suddenly and smoothly in that commanding baritone. People generally have trouble with his name the first couple times.

“Ahhh, sir?” Jared says after gathering his wits about him.

“How are you? Hearing problem today?”

“No, sir. I’m…fine, sir.”

“Good. Word around is that you’ve got a pretty big head on you, son.”

Sergeant Ackles’ eyes are sharp, calculating, and Jared doesn’t know what he’s looking for, but the question in his focused gaze is unsettling. 

“No, sir.”

“You sure? ‘Cause that’s not what I hear. I hear you talk back, you’ve got a chip on your shoulder a mile wide, and you stay pretty solitary. Are the marines solitary, Private?”

“No, sir.”

“Then why’s everyone telling me Private Paddy likes to go it alone? Were you the chubby kid in elementary school?”

“I...” Jared clears his throat, pushes down the tremble of anger in his voice. “I test well.”

“You test well,” he repeats slowly, like a challenge.

Jared sits up a little straighter.

“Yes, sir.”

“And all your pals weren’t too happy when you left them in the dust.” 

It’s not a question. And it’s not exactly true, but Jared’s willing to go with it if it gets Sarge off his fucking case.

“Yes, sir.”

“You test well on what? Your SPAMAT?”

“Yeah. Yes, sir.”

The Sergeant rolls his eyes at Jared’s correcting himself and waves one hand in front of his face like “whatever, doesn’t matter” or maybe just “fuck it”.

“What’d you get?”

Jared’s pretty sure that information is not only private, but also confidential. He’s also pretty damn positive that the higher ups pass out their test scores like candy to NCO’s who are trying to pick their subs. Sergeant Ackles could get his hands on Jared’s test scores easy; has already gotten enough to know Jared didn’t get along real well in BT. For some reason he’s asking him instead.

He could just be lazy. He could want to make sure Jared’s not going to lie. He could just be trying to make Jared uncomfortable, fuck with his head.

Whatever game he’s playing at though, Jared’s not going to just take it like a little bitch. He’s done with that. Besides, he got a good score, the best you can get, actually. Why shouldn’t he brag about it? Why shouldn’t one other person in the world be aware of just how fucking hard he’s worked to get here? 

“I got a twelve,” he says quickly, but not softly, looking right at the Sergeant, daring him to question it.

Next to him, Chad whistles. “Jay-man, that shit’s impossible! You got to be fuckin’ with me.”

Jared turns slightly, gaze sliding away from the Sergeant. “Nah, man, on my poppa’s grave, I swear it.” He shrugs. “Had to work my ass off though.”

“Yeah well, so did I, and I still got a 9,” Chad grumbles.

“Whatever,” Jared shrugs.

“Seriously, though, man. I heard of people going section eight after scoring an eleven. How’d you pull off a _twelve_?” Welling pipes up.

“It’s really not that big a deal,” Jared mumbles, now uncomfortable with all of the scrutiny.

When he cuts his eyes up to look at Sergeant Ackles, he has that same focused intent in Jared’s direction, his expression blank and unyielding, but Jared can see a bit of amusement swimming in his eyes.

“The hell it isn’t Jay-”

“Just…let it go, Chad.”

Chad does, must hear something in his voice, and Jared lets out a sigh of relief.

“I’m looking for a sub,” Sergeant Ackles says, suddenly and apropos of pretty much nothing. 

“You’re a match and I want to move forward with the process as soon as possible. Meet me at the shooting range tomorrow at 1600 hours.”

Jared takes a second too long to process all of that, and Sergeant Ackles raises an eyebrow impatiently.

“Y-Yes, sir,” he chokes out, feeling a frown trying to make its way onto his face, but hiding it quickly.

“Good.” Sergeant Ackles says before getting up with his empty tray, and striding out of the hall.

Jared hadn’t even noticed him finish. 

He looks down at his own food, half eaten, slowly growing cold and already coagulating against the red plastic. He swallows back a grimace, and pushes his tray forward into the empty space that used to be Sergeant Ackles’ tray.

He takes a breath.

What the fuck was that?

“Told you he was looking for a sub,” Chad mutters to no one in particular.

“Shut up, Squint,” half of the table says.

Chad sucks his teeth. “All I’m saying is good luck being bonded to that ornery asshole.”

Jared glares at Chad for what feels like the fiftieth time since they introduced themselves not two hours ago.

But seriously, _what the fuck_?

  
  



	2. Part 2

# PART 2

  
  


JENSEN

There are three things that need to be established before Jensen can even think about taking a sub as a bond-mate. Out of necessity they would, of course, have to be biologically compatible. That one is a given. 

Second, his sub has to be smart. Jensen’s no dumbass, and he’s not going to be bonded to one. They’re going to be with each other enough that they’re going to have to have the occasional conversation. They’ll have to strategize together and plan together. That takes intelligence, and he’s not carrying dead weight.

Third, they have to be a fantastic shot. All marines are rifleman first, it’s pounded into their bone marrow from the second they’re recruited, but Jensen’s bonded needs to be more than a good rifleman, he needs to be a fucking Charles Whitman. He needs to be quick, and he needs to be sharp, and his aim’s got to be exactly on point because Jensen won’t have the blood of another marine on his hands. 

He fights hard, and he fights dirty, and his bonded’s got to be right there with him. No questions asked.

So, asking…well, ordering Padalecki to come to the shooting range wasn’t just some stupid way of trying to get to know him. Jensen’s literally trying to ascertain if this kid’ll work as his partner. But apparently no one else got that memo, because as he walks into the shooting range twenty minutes early to get in some rounds before the kid gets there, Mikey’s practically hooting and hollering like he popped the fucking question.

“So you’re bringing new blood to the shooting range today.”

“Yeah, what of it?”

Mikey shrugs. “Nothing. Just found it interesting that’s all. Thought it was funny how you been fighting tooth and nail to get out from under the big man’s thumb about this thing and you meet this one kid and suddenly you’re all wanting to get to know him.”

“Man, fuck that. I’m not wanting to get to know anyone. Morgan’s making me choose, and I’m trying to make my choice,” Jensen says gruffly as he takes the imitation rifle from Mikey’s capable hands. 

There’s still gun oil pressed into the whirls in the skin of Mike’s fingertips, and Jensen flashes back to the taste of it on his tongue, sharp and bitter, acerbic, mixed with the salt of skin and sweat, and the sour tang of pre-come. _Jason._

He shakes his head free of the memory.

“Kid’s got to be a good shot, you know that Mike. And besides where do you get off saying anything when you’ve gotta take a sub now, too, Junior Gunnery Sergeant Rosenbaum.”

“Sure, sure.” Mikey waves away the title like it’s nothing but Jensen knows how hard the bastard worked for it. He’s good at what he does, a proper marine if Jensen ever met one, and he knows Mikey’ll find the right sub to suit him. He has to or Jensen will kick his ass.

“Go practice your shot, Jackles. I’ll make sure to frown when your boy gets here.”

“He’s not my-” Jensen starts, but Mike’s already headed out the door.

He sighs and sets the rifle against his shoulder to get started on his rounds.

+++

Jared shows up exactly on time, which is to say, three minutes early. Early enough to seem attentive, aware, timely, but not idle or overly eager. That’s good. Timing is important. It’s not everything, but it is important.

“Private Padalecki,” Jensen greets.

“Sir.” Jared nods back respectfully, and that’s good, too, respectful without kissing his ass. The ones that try too hard just piss him off. Jensen doesn’t show any sign of seeing the gesture, though. He grabs a rifle for the kid instead.

“This here’s an imitation M16.” He sets it in his hands. “Weight’s about the same right?”

Padalecki nods.

“Feels right? Grip’s good?”

“Yessir.”

“It’s the most realistic toy you’ll ever see. Now I know you’ve shot a real one before but don’t think because it’s _not_ real you won’t feel everything you do when you take a normal shot. It recoils like a bitch. They overdid it a bit trying to make it realistic.”

Padalecki raises an eyebrow in response, and Jensen can’t help but quirk the smallest and quickest of smiles. He passes the kid ear and eye protectant.

“If you don’t follow through real well with your shot you’ll pull easy, but it’s got good distance like any other rifle. Shoot through the first ten mags, and then we’ll go from there.”

“Yessir.”

Jensen can tell that Padalecki is a little confused as to why he’s here, but he doesn’t hesitate to get into position. He’s got good standing form (surprising as it’s the most unstable form a marine can have): back straight, shoulders forward, butt of the rifle in the right place. He breathes before he takes his first shot, follows through on the trigger and doesn’t break form for a nanosecond before firing again, and again, and again. His pace is good, easy, focused, and he looks nowhere but at the target in front of him. After about three minutes Jensen’s seen enough but he lets the kid take the full nine to run out of ammo just ‘cause he can tell he’s hit a stride.

When Padalecki finishes Jensen walks up to him, takes the rifle from his hands and puts it, and his own, back empty. Mikey’ll re-load them with bb’s or find a grunt to do it for him. He nods his head toward the exit and Padalecki follows him out.

“Walk with me, Private.”

He does. 

There’s a few minutes of comfortable silence and then,

“You’re a good shot,” Jensen says reluctantly. And he knows he sounds slightly disbelieving when he says it too. Most of the new grunts just don’t have that kind of intent in target practice, though, and he can’t go without saying something. Of course the kid _did_ get a twelve on his SPAMs and how the fuck does that happen anyway?

“Thank you, sir.”

Jensen shakes his head. “No thanks necessary when it’s the truth.”

“Truth isn’t always spoken aloud, sir.”

Jensen grunts. That’s true, as well.

“You know why I asked you to come here this afternoon?”

“No, sir.”

Honest.

“Could you make an educated guess?”

“You said you were interested in a sub, sir. I assume you’re considering me.”

“Do you know why?”

“No, sir.”

Jensen gives him a look and sees a bit of mischief in the kid’s eyes this time. Honest _smartass_ is more like it. The guys from Basic weren’t exaggerating, then. Good. Jensen likes a bit of a challenge.

“Guess again then, Private, and don’t make me ask you next time.”

“We’re biologically compatible, sir.”

“Is that all?”

“I’m not sure, sir. But seeing as you don’t know me from a can of paint I’d have to make the _educated guess_ that that’s all there is to it…sir.”

Jensen hides a slight smile at that as he makes a sudden and sharp turn in the other direction once they hit the infirmary at the edge of the base. He expects Padalecki to trip over himself, his limbs already too long and potentially clumsy, but he turns just as smoothly as if he’d known all along that that was the direction he was going to take.

He walks _next_ to him, Jensen notices, probably because of Jensen’s order to walk _with_ him, and because Jensen’s not leading him anywhere, but his crisp step still puts him around four inches ahead of Jensen with every other step he takes, and he’s starting to understand why this kid got a twelve on his Subservient Physical and Mental Aptitude Tests. New marines very rarely follow such protocol anymore, but Jensen respects that he does. If there were to be an attack on the base right now Padalecki would be in the perfect position to jump in front of his superior and he’s not even bonded to him yet. Jensen doesn’t know whether that’s extreme dedication or potentially suicidal.

He decides to go with dedication because the kid’s too good of a shot to have to be booted on account of section eight.

They’re getting closer to the barracks again and it’s nearly chow time. Jensen wants to give Padalecki the chance to wash up, and he hadn’t planned on this being a long conversation anyway, but he’s surprised to find that asking Padalecki if he wants to try for a bonding between them is actually making him sweat a little bit. 

He's verified that the kid fits all of his necessary criteria, but now’s the part where he could get turned down. The marines are surprisingly strict about offering the subs a chance to say no to any superior that wants to bond with them. They only get one chance, but they _have_ to be given that one chance and it has to be before the process of testing starts. Jensen’s not going to get discharged over something as stupid as not asking a sub for permission no matter how vulnerable a place it puts him in. Hell, he’s a marine. His job is to get shot at; he’s _always_ vulnerable. He has to take this head on just like he’d take anything else, so when the silence after Padalecki’s remark starts to stretch a little too long he takes a breath, ignores the nerves bundling up in his gut, and goes straight for the kill.

“You’re smart, we’re biologically compatible, and you’re a good shot. I consider you the…ideal for a sub and would like to try and take this to the next level. Would you be comfortable with that?”

He knows he sounds stiff, strained, and overly formal but to be honest this entire experience is throwing him off his game. His first bond just kind of happened naturally. Sure, Jason _was_ all of those things, but he was also more than that, and they’d known each other, and it’d been…fuck, it’d been different, but Jensen doesn’t want that again, anyway. He _can’t_ have that again anyway, and he wouldn’t if he could because it just means pain. And isn’t it ironic that his sub was the one that caused him so much pain in the end.

“Sir?”

Jensen is startled out of thoughts he was deliberately trying not to have at the sound of Private Padalecki’s soft tenor and runs a hand over his face, annoyed with himself at the slip up. 

“Private,” he answers, silently asking him to repeat himself.

“I said I would be fine with investigating it further, sir.” 

Jensen lets go of the breath he was unconsciously holding and lifts his gaze back to the Private’s face. 

“Good. That’s good,” he says, nodding distractedly. Then, 

“That’s great,” once he fully registers what Padalecki’s just said.

He’s got a potential sub. Jensen’s heartbeat starts to jack rabbit in his chest, and dear God what is he getting himself into?

Another sub.

“So...I guess I’ll go wash for dinner, Sir?”

Jensen starts again. “Yes. Yes, ahh…” Jensen clears his throat and then says, more authoritatively, “Yes.”

“Okay…Bye, sir,” Padalecki says awkwardly, bowing slightly, before walking away, his stride smooth and steady.

Jensen walks back to his quarters feeling like his legs are made of Jell-O and struggling to keep his face blank enough to seem like he’s not about to have a mental breakdown. When he finally gets behind his door he struggles to get control over his body, get his heart to stop trying to come up his throat, get his palms to stop sweating, and _breathe_ damnit.

God, he can do this. It’s just a war-bond. 

He can _do_ this. 

&&&

JARED

The first week after his initial arrival onto the base is in some ways dull as he settles into the pattern of rising early and PT, daily grunt work and target practice. They don’t make a group trip into town yet because no one’s run out of their shit, but Jared knows that it’ll probably only be a few more days until he goes a little stir crazy and starts to feel like exploring. Rural Taiwan’s not really a place to sight see on your own, though, especially in uniform, so Jared knows he’ll probably have to rope Chad into going as he’s the only guy he consistently talks to. Jared’s pretty sure that’s only because Chad seems to enjoy hearing himself talk, and he’s best at tuning him out, but whatever. 

He’s also a little tense in the first week as he waits for some say from Sergeant Ackles about the next steps of the bonding process. Jared was a little weirded out by Sarge’s just coming up and letting him know that he was interested but Misha assured him, as he had been talking to some marines that had been around a bit longer, that the protocol for that type of thing was usually pretty jarring. If a superior showed interest, you responded. They had to give subs their chance to say no, so going to the shooting range didn’t tie Jared into anything, and Sergeant Ackles wasn’t doing any kind of formal test.

Once he’d been assured of that Jared really didn’t have any issues with going to shoot at some targets for ten minutes. He can admit that the ensuing conversation was slightly awkward, and that Sarge getting spacey and even a little jumpy at the end freaked him out, but from what he hears Sergeant Ackles isn’t a creep. Jared got strangely good vibes from him in the small amount of time they did spend together even though he’s pretty sure he didn’t get any more than surface impressions. But that’s fine, because Sarge seems careful about his personal space and Jared doesn’t plan on completing more than the most basic bond anyway, whatever that entails.

That alone will probably be pretty strong, what with his oversensitivity, and he doesn’t want anyone in his head. The guy from dinner was right, that shit’s a little creepy.

Jared will do his job. He’ll be a good marine because that’s what he’s good at. He’ll fight for his country, and he’ll protect his bonded because that’s what he’s made to do, and if he’s a little worried about what the bond will change he pushes that to the back of his mind because he didn’t come this far to pussy out. He’s not a quitter. He’s not weak, and he won’t ever give anyone the chance to tell him different.

“I think it’s kind of cool that you already have, like… a prospect or whatever,” Chad says one evening during a game of Texas Hold ’Em. 

It’s down time and they’re on their fourth game of the hour. Jared beat him two out of the three other times, but it’s so goddamn hot that day that when Chad says, “Best three out of five for those Aviators I won off of Collins in a dare,” Jared agrees just because it means it’ll keep his ass inside the barracks a little longer, and out of the damp, cloying heat of midday. 

“What do you mean, a prospect?”

“Well, you know… having a superior want to… bond or whatever. I mean, no one’s come up to me wanting to ‘investigate’ shit. The fact that he came up to you about it and said he wanted to look into it with you, it’s… I don’t know, kind of honorable.”

Jared gives Chad a penetrating look. He’ll sometimes come out with these deep statements that are really kind of profound and make a whole lot of sense, and Jared will question whether the idiot thing is just an act or whether Chad’s really that multidimensional. It’s a little scary sometimes how serious he gets.

 “I hear stuff around, you know, and Sarge, he’s a chill guy.”

“Just last week you were proclaiming his douchy-ness.”

“Yeah, well, a guy can change his mind can’t he? Anyway, I didn’t know anything about him then. That was first impression bullshit.”

“Yeah, and this is rumor bullshit.”

“Well it’s not like we don’t see him. He’s around. It’s not _only_ talk. Plus, most rumors are based in some kind of truth anyway, yeah? The apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree and all that.”

Jared frowns a little. “I… don’t think that’s the metaphor you’re looking for.”

“Don’t bite the hand that feeds you.”

“That’s a proverb.”

“Lean not to your own understanding.”

“That’s from the Bible. Chad!”

“What!?”

“Shut up. Your mouth is making my head hurt.”

“I’m just saying maybe it’s not going to be half as bad you think it’s going to be. It could be a good thing. It is what we’re trained for, yeah? What we’re sort of born to do.”

“Whoever said I thought it was going to be bad? And there are plenty of people with the XTRA gene that don’t join the military, Chad.”

“Sure, but what do they do with it? Nothing. It just sits there, open and empty, and they, like… never live up to their potential and shit. I’d rather put my life on the line for something worth it than sit around all day at some desk somewhere, noose around my neck, pretending like I wasn’t born to save lives.”

Jared looks up at him again. “Me too. But that’s why we’re here and they’re there. Everyone doesn’t have the guts to do what we do, but that doesn’t make them bad, Squint, it just makes them…”

“Weak?”

Jared shrugs. “Yeah, maybe. Just shut up and show your hand.”

Chad lays out his cards. Jared lays out his and realizes that he just lost the fourth game.

Chad lets out this weird, slightly deranged squeal and Jared just rolls his eyes.

“If I win, you have to sleep on the bottom bunk for a week,” he challenges, eyes dancing.

“What!? We bet on the fucking Aviators, not bunk switching!”

“You pussy?”

“’Course not.”

“Then prove it.”

“Are you shittin’ me? For top bunk for a whole week? No way!”

Chad starts making these weird noises that Jared supposes are chicken sounds, though he really sounds like a dying cat.

It’s not the noises that make Jared cave because that’d be pathetic. It’s because Chad also starts poking at his arm annoyingly while he makes those noises, and he knows Jared _hates_ unnecessary touching, and Jared wants to beat his ass just _one more time._

“Fine! Okay! Fine! Last game for the bunks.”

“Yes!”

“But be ready to lose, asshole.”

“Whatever. Your momma better be ready to lose. In your face!”

“That made absolutely no sense.”

“Your face makes no sense. Burn!”

“Well at least that one had context.”

“Fuck your context; I don’t got to listen to the man!”

“You _work_ for the man!”

“Fight the system! Viva la resistance!”

“Oh my god, Squint, just deal before you get our asses beat for starting trouble.”

“Blanket parties are illegal, Jay-man. That shit don’t fly no more.”

“’Course it’s illegal. So are drugs and hookers. Doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. I’m sure you’ve smoked up tons of times what with the little brain cells you have left, and I’m no stranger to the streets.”

And it just slipped out. Jared hadn’t planned on saying anything like that-the words just tumbled out of him, damning and irreversible, and he wants to grab them out of thin air and stuff them back down his throat like some stupid cartoon character on some stupid TV show he remembers from when he was little, but he can’t ‘cause this is real life, and he’s an adult, and…Fuck.

There’s a brief silence, in which Jared feels like he’s going to maybe start hyperventilating, and then Chad laughs, laughs like he’s dying.

“Oh yeah, Jay-man...good one! Stranger to the streets!” he chuckles.

Jared lets out a breath in relief because despite Chad becoming a sort of acquaintance of his he doesn’t need it getting out that he once sold drugs _and_ his own ass so his family wouldn’t starve. That’s not the kind of shit you tell a marine. They’ll either try to fuck you or fuck you up (or both), and Jared’s not down for either. So he chuckles along lightly, rolls his eyes, and picks up his cards to continue the game.

When Chad wins the fifth Jared doesn’t even get angry. He just switches their cots, rearranges his twelve-inch fold, and lies down on bottom bunk for a quick nap before chow time. Talking to Chad is so fucking tiring sometimes.

+++

When Sergeant Ackles does finally come to let him know it’s time to do the testing, it’s two weeks into his tour. They haven’t really had direct contact for a week and a half and the brief exchange of information:

“Paperwork is in. Signed and sealed, and all that. Meet at the infirmary at 1400.”

“I’ll finish my Thursday clean-up early, sir.”

“Good.”

“Okay.”

Well, it’s a bit awkward to say the least. But Jared’s got a time now, and this’ll finally get things rolling so there’s a bit of anticipation mixed in with the “Oh fuck, I think I’m going to hurl” nervousness.

He does finish cleaning barracks early, and he takes an extra minute to shave just to make sure he’s not rough anywhere before he makes his way over to the infirmary. He doesn’t feel the need to look especially good or anything, he just…he wants to be right. This has to go right, and if he starts off right then maybe it’ll keep going right.

When he gets there Sergeant Ackles is standing out front, looking out into the middle distance with a cigarette in his mouth, cover low over his eyes, and fiddling with something that looks like some kind of coin in his left hand. He twitches slightly when Jared walks up to him, even though he stops about four feet away to stand at attention and offer the greeting of the day. He turns after about thirty seconds, slipping the object into his left pocket, and looks at Jared, eyes guarded.

“At ease. You smoke, Private?”

He doesn’t offer Jared the cigarette or another from the pack, wherever it is. It seems to be just a question out of curiosity, but Jared knows better than to take anything at face value anymore. He doesn’t lie, though- sees no reason to hide the truth this time.

“No, sir.”

Sergeant Ackles takes another draw from the cigarette before exhaling smoke in one long stream, grey and hazy in the heat, and then tossing it to the ground. He crushes the butt with one weathered boot and gestures behind himself to the infirmary. 

“Good. That stuff’ll kill you anyway. And it’s bad for stamina.”

Jared raises an eyebrow, and he sees the Sergeant quirk a quick, lopsided smile.

“Both kinds.”

Jared can’t help but offer a hesitant smile of his own before following the Sergeant into the infirmary.

He has a feeling this all might go okay.

&&&

JENSEN

He’s been trying to quit actually. But his nerves are frayed and his brain keeps trying to attack him with visions of the past, and he’s just trying to calm down, center himself a bit. So he’d given in, let two month’s hard work vanish into nothing as he inhaled the toxins he knew he’d be jonesing for again in about three hours, now that he’d gone and given his body the nicotine it craves constantly.

But fuck it. He’s about to start a new bond and he needs whatever solace he can get. The paperwork didn’t take nearly as long to come through as he thought it would (the military is usually slow about these things), and he’s suddenly put into a situation where he feels trapped, and rushed, and _pressured_ and none of those things jive well with him.

He is surprised, though, at how easily Padalecki’s smile comes, and how quickly settled he feels once the kid gets there. He’s not completely oblivious, and he realizes that this is probably one of the reasons, aside from Staff Sergeant Morgan breathing down his neck, that he’d wanted to jump into this with Padalecki, and hadn’t really checked to see if there were other subs that were biologically compatible. 

There’s something there that would make this work. Despite his strong urge to vomit, and the grip he has on the medal in his pocket, he knows that this- making a new bond- has to be done; this Private is probably the best choice for him.

When they both sit down on the examiner’s table to get tested for just that, the Doc (who looks older than Jensen by around twenty years; skin brown and tough, sun worn) says the same; he thinks he and Padalecki are “exceptionally compatible” simply based on their autonomic nervous systems, whatever the fuck that means.

He and Padalecki are hooked up to about six different machines, colorful lines zigzagging every which way, and hums and beeps filling the silence in between the Doc’s intrusive questions, like, 

“How are your bowels as of late?”

and

“How many sexual partners have you had within the past three years?”

and

“How often do you masturbate?”

And when he gets to that question and Padalecki goes pink at the ears, Jensen has to jump in because he trusts the Doc, sure he does, but he just needs to know-

“I’m sorry, Doc, I know you know what you’re doing, but-”

“The autonomic nervous system controls many things, Sergeant, sexual arousal included. I’m just trying to make sure that you and Private Padalecki, here, are as compatible in the most basic bodily functions as I think you are.”

“Ah.”

“Now…is there any history of mental illness in your family? Any disorders? Mood, anxiety, or otherwise?”

Jensen shakes his head no, but sees Padalecki hesitate out of the corner of his eye.

“Ah… my… my mother had a bit of a mental breakdown a couple of years ago.”

The Doc doesn’t stop in his note-taking, or look up from his inspection of the machines, but Jensen can see his scrawling slow down just a bit, like he’s allowing time for the new information to register and compute.

“Do you know what caused it? Medically, of course.”

“Ah… they said she had anxiety disorder. And some other shit thrown in there too. Paranoia and… Agra-something.”

“Agoraphobia?”

“Yeah, y’know, she just… she never wanted to go outside, ever.”

“Mmm. Have you ever had any problems with anxiety?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I did,” Padalecki snaps back and Jensen raises an eyebrow in his direction at his disrespect. 

“Sorry, sir. Sorry, Doc, I just-” He sighs. “No. No, I’ve never been diagnosed with anxiety disorder.”

“I didn’t ask if you were diagnosed, son. I asked if you had problems. Don’t lie to me. I’m not going to say anything. It’s not my place as long as Sergeant Ackles, here, thinks you’re fit for duty. But my job is to ensure that all of my marines are as safe and healthy as possible. I’ll need to know if you're bringing factors into the mix.”

The Doc takes a second to stare Padalecki down and Jensen waits for an answer with baited breath. Is this it? Is this what’s going to fuck this up?

“I don’t have anxiety disorder, but I get the shakes sometimes and my heart rate picks up.”

“For no reason?”

“No, there’s always a reason.”

Jensen lets out the breath he was holding but listens intently still. He can tell Doc’s not done.

“What kinds of reasons?”

“Normal reasons,” Padalecki says.

“What _kinds_ of reasons?”

“Don’t make him repeat himself, again, Private.”

Padalecki whips his head to left to look at him, but Jensen knows his face is impenetrable. He doesn’t like the kid’s stubbornness right now, not when he knows Doc’s good people.

“Yessir,” he says stiffly, turning back towards Doc. “Usually when there are a lot of people in one place. Crowds, elevators, things like that.”

“Do you ever have trouble breathing?”

“No. I’m very good at controlling my breathing. It’s not a _fear_ of anything, it’s just...”

“Just what?”

“I’m a little…”

“A little what, Private? This is important information.”

“I’m sensitive, alright? I’m sensitive. To others…pain.”

“So, you’re saying that you feel others pain? Without being bonded.”

“No… no, I’m not sayin’ anything like that, it’s just… a, a sense kinda. I think it’s just my gene is like…hyperactive or whatever. It’s always been that way.”

“Hmmm. But you _don’t_ , nor have you ever had anxiety disorder.”

“…No, sir.”

“Alright, then.”

Padalecki seems a little startled with the Doc’s just letting it go, but he keeps his mouth shut about it. Smart kid. Unfortunately Jensen’s about to come out of his skin after that whole shake down. What if Padalecki’s weird sixth sense creates some kind of interference, fucks up the bond, or makes it… stronger than it should be?

“Just like that?”

“I’m sorry, Sergeant?”

“Alright, Doc? Just like that? You don’t think this’ll be an issue?”

“Private Padalecki isn’t the first marine with the XTRA gene to claim a little extra sensory perception. Some are more sensitive than others, and some subs feel a bit of something even before being bonded. The fact that it causes such a profound effect in him is a bit surprising but I don’t believe it’s anything to worry about. It won’t interfere with the bond in any case.”

“Oh…that’s good.”

“Now, I’ve checked your records, and your medical histories. Neither of you have any communicable diseases. You both seem to be in the best physical shape possible, and neither of you have a history of diabetes or heart disease in your family, correct?”

“No, sir.”

“Your blood types are complementary, your body weights are within manageable range from each other, though Private Padalecki could do with a few more pounds at his height,” The Doc gives Padalecki a smile, but the kid does not look impressed. Jensen holds back a slight chuckle at the pout on his face.

“And your circadian rhythms seem to be almost exactly the same. With the results from these tests complete…”

He scans over the clipboard in his hand once more, lips moving silently, before setting it down on the desk behind him, and looking up at the two of them.

“I’d say you two are quite compatible; a fit pair for the process if I ever saw one, and certainly one of the best I’ve seen in quite a long time. We’ll still have to go through the preliminary physical tests, just to be absolutely positive, but we can get through that right now. And if you’re willing to come on by after chow time, we can get you in those chairs tonight. My schedule’s wide open. You’ll wake up a full-fledged bonded pair tomorrow morning. The trial period will begin, and if there’s no issues, we’ll let the bond continue to grow and strengthen.”

Doc’s smile is huge, magnanimous even, so excited to bring them the good news. 

Jensen takes a deep breath, swallows down the nausea that’s building up toward his throat.

“I think that’s do-able. What say you, Private?”

When Jensen turns to look at Padalecki he looks slightly shocked, but to his credit, he answers, voice smooth and calm.

“Yeah. Yes, I think that’s fine, sir.”

“Good,” Doc says clapping his hands together. “Well, then. Let’s get you out to the obstacle course to test your physicality then, shall we?”

&&&

JARED

Jared can’t choke anything down at dinner. He and Jensen are just as compatible at the physicality tests as everything else. They finished the course within two seconds of each other, Jensen behind, as is his place. He can’t stop thinking about the fact that twelve hours from now he’ll be bonded to someone. And not just anyone, but Sergeant Ackles, who Jared’s starting to realize is kind of a big deal. He’s not an asshole about it, but he gets a lot of respect around here, and Jared isn’t necessarily one for overbearing authority figures, but he likes knowing he’s going to be tied to someone that demands respect. Even if he knows it’s going to be a bitch to do all of the things that Doc told them to do.

They’ve got to be together 24/7 for one, at least for the first couple of days, which means Jared’s got to move into Jensen’s quarters. He’s got an extra bed for just this occasion, but still, Jared’s used to having all of his own space or absolutely no space at all. He doesn’t do well with the in-between, it makes his skin itch. But he guesses because he’ll be bonded it won’t matter then.

Jesus.

“Hey, Jaybird when you gonna come outta that haze, man? Us humans here on planet earth are waiting for you.”

Chad thinks he’s funny, but he’s really not, especially when he makes dumb ass jokes like that one.

“Jareeeeeeddd. Jareeeeeeeeed,” he whines. “Look, they have pie.”

Jared knows for a fact that they don’t. He’d been in that line not ten minutes ago. 

“Jared, come on, man, what’s got you so down in the dumps?”

Chad pinches Jared’s cheek, then, his grubby fingers squeezing at Jared’s face, and Jared’s going to kill him.

He punches him in the arm instead. Really, _really_ hard.

“Dude, what was that for?” Chad whines again, squinting harshly as he backs a little out of Jared’s personal space. Good.

“That was for, “Don’t fucking touch me.””

Chad rolls his eyes at that, rubbing his opposite palm against his bicep. “Goddamnit Jay-man, why you gotta be so fucking violent? I mean, really, I knew some kids in Georgia-…or was it Maryland…maybe it was North Carolina-”

“Bonded,” Jared blurts out just to get Chad to stop fucking talking. 

“Excuse me?” 

And okay yeah, maybe also to get that ridiculous bug-eyed look onto Chad’s face, ‘cause it’s the only thing that could possibly make Jared smile when his stomach feels like it’s getting eaten away by mammoth mutant moths all because of Sergeant Ackles and his stupid fucking bond. God, he forgot how uncomfortable being nervous feels. He _hates_ being out of his element.

“I’m gonna bond with Sarge tonight.”

“Tonight?!”

“Yep. They’re gonna stick us in the chairs tonight. Doc says tomorrow morning we’ll be bonded.”

“Wow…so that’s why you haven’t touched your…”Chad starts before poking with his fork at the something on Jared’s tray. “…whatever the fuck this is. How come you always get something that looks like it walked onto your fucking tray all on its own?”

“Beats me,” Jared says, sighing and pushing away his tray. Not like he’s going to eat any of it anyway.

“Jay-man, don’t worry,” Chad says, eyes looking sincere as he glances at Jared. “It’ll work out. It’s gotta, yeah?”

“Sure.” Jared shrugs, but nothing ever works out for him, and he knows that, so he’s really saying it for Chad’s benefit, but whatever.

“Sure.”

&&&

JENSEN

Jensen’s done this before, so he knows what to expect. They’ll knock them out, do the shit with the EEG and keep them sedated while their brains are doing the tango, and then they’ll get up and badabing badaboom, bonded pair. It doesn’t make him any less queasy when the Doc has them sit in the chairs in the back, though. Everything looks fine. The chairs are clean and new, all of the crazy wires look like they’re in the right place, and when they sit down, there’s just enough space between them so that Jensen doesn’t feel caged in, but they’re close enough so that if they need to touch during the night, distance won’t keep them from reaching each other.

It’s weird to think that again. He’s got to keep reminding himself that this won’t be like the last time, though, this kid… this isn’t Jason.

Jensen takes a deep breath after the doctor’s spiel, ready to get this part done so he can stop feeling like tossing chunks, when he looks over to Padalecki and sees his hands shaking minutely. 

“Hey, kid,” he starts.

“Not a kid…sir.”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “Padalecki-”

“We’re bonding… we’re… getting ready to bond. Once Doc shoots that stuff in our veins it’s lights out and nothing till tomorrow, and that’ll be it.”

Jensen nods slowly, not trying to support Padalecki’s panic attack, just trying to show him that he gets why he’s having one in the first place. This shit’s fucking scary as hell. But they’re marines, and Doc knows what he’s doing,  and once it’s done, it’s done so they might as well step up to the frontline and blow this out of the fucking water.

“Hey… hey, we’re good.” Jensen says, placing a rough hand on one of Padalecki’s bony knees. He’s not really saying anything that matters, just idle chatter to keep the kid from running for the hills. “You signed the forms, yeah? Gave ‘em to Doc?” 

And of course he did, Jensen watched him do it. He doesn’t get why he’s trying so hard to get this kid to calm down, except for the fact that he needs to be calm and Padalecki’s hyperventilating isn’t going to help that none.

“Okay!” Doc strides back over to them in the chairs, cheerfully looking from one face to the other.

Jensen raises an eyebrow.

“Yeah, Doc?”

“You ready? Used to be that we had to start this puppy up and get the EEG waves going back and forth before we knocked you out. Used to be that hurt like a son of a bitch. But now we’ve got these nifty drugs that don’t interfere with the waves or the neurotransmitters and aren’t you lucky?”

“Yep.” Jensen says as he watches Doc bring two needles up and flick them both with the tip of his index finger.

“Kay, here’s what I need you to do. Both of you put your arm that’s closest to me palm up on the arm of the chair. Good. Now I’m going to inject you one at a time. We won’t start the machines ‘till you’re completely out. After about eight hours we’re going to transfer you to your room because it never does anyone any good to wake up in a chair. You get late wake up call, because you _will_ be sore. I’ll send you your training itinerary through a grunt, alright Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I want you to count to thirty, both of you, out loud. And when you’re done, you’ll be out, I promise that. Ready?”

Jensen nods and cuts his eye to Padalecki, who nods as well.

Good. 

“Alright… here we go.”

Jensen feels the needle prick sharp and quick and then there’s a soft pressure, what feels like a bit of movement under his skin. He starts to count.

“One… two…” Padalecki’s counting with him, he can hear, a soft tenor ringing clear in his ears.

“Seven… eight…”

Jensen feels a little heavy, his eyes are fluttering just a bit, and he’s pretty sure that Doc is saying something about cotton and pears but everything’s all fuzzy and nothings coming through right.

“Twelve… thirteen… fourteen…”

He looks down at his inner arm to see that there’s nothing there. Doc must’ve stopped injecting at some point but he can’t remember when, and what number is he on again? 

His arm looks blurry, and he chuckles.

“Blur… twenty… twennn…”

He can’t count anymore and he thinks Padalecki stopped a while ago, and he wonders if after they’re bonded he can stop calling the kid Padalecki, ‘cause the name is soooo lo…

  



	3. Part 3

# PART 3

  
  


JARED

The first thing Jared feels when he wakes is something hot and bright on the side of his face and an uncomfortable stiffness in his left leg. 

“Nnng,” he groans and turns his head so that the stupid sun will stop trying to burn through the first layer of his skin, Jesus. He tries to burrow back into his pillow and forget the sensation, snag a few more precious minutes of sleep, knowing if the sun is already up that means that it’s really close to morning call. 

But the goddamn sun must’ve moved ‘cause it’s still fucking burning and his stupid leg has started to twitch slightly. He tries to burrow further under his sheets, stretches out his leg by kicking it off of the bed and flailing it a little bit but that doesn’t help either, and god fucking damnit, he’s not getting back to sleep.

Jared sighs heavily before cracking open his eyes, and sitting up in his bed. He rubs a hand across his face, smacks his lips together a little, ‘cause ugh, god what is that foul taste in his mouth? He yawns, stretches, and moves to scoot over to the ladder at the end of the bed when he remembers that Chad beat him in that stupid card game, and he’s got the bottom bunk, and duh, no wonder his feet are touching the deck.

“Chad,” he groans out, voice scratchy and throat like feeling like it’s been rubbed down with sand paper. 

“Chad.”

Fuck, what if he’s sick? He _hates_ getting sick out in the middle of nowhere ‘cause no one gives a shit unless you’re dying or highly contagious, and _Oh my god_ Chad, why isn’t he up? He knows they’ve got to shower, shit ‘n shave in five, and he never moves fast enough unless Jared is there to tell his ass to hurry the fuck up. Of course, Jared wouldn’t even roll out of the bed when they’ve got down time if it wasn’t for Chad, so he guesses they’re even. But seriously, what the fuck? Why isn’t he up?

“Chad!” Jared barks, lifting a hand to knock up on the bottom of the top bunk and get his lazy ass up. But when he lifts his fist to bang into wire covered rack there’s nothing but air. What the…?

Jared looks above him and sees a ceiling. A white one, not the wood of the barrack, and when he looks down he sees cement deck, not the wood that Chad gets all pissy about, and where the fuck is he?

He digs his fingers into his eye sockets, rubs the sleep out of his eyes, flicks away the crust clinging to his eyelashes and looks around. 

He doesn’t have to look very far. Sergeant Ackles is lying in the rack across the room, sheets to his waist, and mouth slightly open, hands fisted under his pillow as he snores lightly into the space underneath his right armpit.

Oh. That’s right. Jared’s fucking bonded. His stomach gives a weird flip at that and he starts to stand up when he realizes…he doesn’t have early wake up call. 

Hell yeah! He'll deal with the rest later. His ass is going back to sleep.

He’s just settling in to try and find a good comfortable position when he starts to feel that burn on his face again. He peeks open his eyes, and there’s no sun there to blind him, so what the ever loving fuck?

He looks over to Sarge and sees that all of the sun is on his side of the room, coming in from the east, and Jared doesn’t get how he can sleep through that. The light is fucking blinding, and… oh fucking duh, he can’t feel it anymore because….

Because Jared’s his sub and everything painful or uncomfortable gets transferred to him. Hence the fucking nonexistent sun burning his face off. Lovely.

Jared rolls over onto his stomach, stuffs his face in his pillow and groans. This is going to suck ass. And not in a fun way.

+++

When Jared wakes back up, his entire body aches. He feels like he’s been hit by a truck going fucking 200 mi/hr down the interstate. Jesus, what happened in the hour, maybe (maybe even less) that he’d forced himself into sleeping so that he wouldn’t feel like he’d wasted a late morning call? God knows he needs it. So why does his body hate him today?

“Mmmmnnghhh,” he moans, just for the hell of it, ‘cause he's alone and there’s no other way to express his utter misery at the world right now.

“Morning.”

Jared starts as much as he’s able when he’s in this much pain, and turns his head to look at the disembodied voice. It’s Sarge, of course, voice not disembodied at all, and wow Jared’s brain sure is out to lunch this morning, huh? 

Jared blinks at him.

Sergeant Ackles looks well rested and fresh. Like he just hopped out of the shower or something, and Jared hates him a little bit for it, because if it weren’t for him, he would probably be able to move right now.

“How you feelin’?” Sarge asks, and his tone is soft… concerned? That’s definitely the look in his eyes, anyway. It’s weird. It’s really freakin’ weird.

He looks at him expectantly and Jared realizes he hasn’t said a word yet. He clears his throat.

“Fine.” His voice comes out just as scratchy as earlier, though, and when he tries to sit up, he gets a little dizzy and ends up tipping sideways again. God, what the fuck is going on? His whole body has conspired against him.

“Whoa,” Sarge says, catching him with a hand at his bicep and one at his hip, palms spread wide, and the touch should feel strange, uncomfortably intimate, but it only feels warm, and that’s definitely weird too. Sergeant Ackles doesn’t make to move away quickly once Jared’s steady on his feet, but when Jared clears his throat lightly he lets go with a little jump. Jared decides to ignore the weirdness for the time being in favor of categorizing all of his aches and pains, registering the degree to which he feels them, and quieting the overstimulation to a low buzz of irritation in his mind. If he doesn’t let himself focus on the pain, he knows he can handle it. He’s been trained for exactly this, and he knows he’ll have to handle much, much worse. This is, frankly, a piece of cake, and the sooner he stops getting distracted by his body, the sooner he can ask why he’s in pain in the first place. 

He opens his eyes (he hadn’t even realized they were closed), to see Sarge staring at him just as intently as before.

“Sergeant Ackles-” Jared starts, not really sure of where he’s going with the sentence, anyway, when Sarge jumps in.

“Jensen. We’re bonded now, even if only temporarily. You ought to call me Jensen.”

Sergeant Ack- Jensen sticks his hand out in front of him, and Jared takes it and shakes, feeling ridiculously uncomfortable with the gesture of equality.

“J-Jared,” he allows it to tumble out of his mouth. “Call me Jared.”

He watches Jensen nod crisply. “Much shorter than Padalecki.”

Jared snorts.

“Thank God for small mercies,” Jensen says, lips quirked.

Jared raises his eyebrows in agreement. 

"Ser-" he starts again and Jensen gives him a look.

"Jensen..." God, it's so weird calling him that. "Why do I feel like I've been hit by a truck? I expected head pain maybe, a little muscle soreness..."

"Yeah, the Doc doesn't like to mention how shitty you'll feel afterwards. It's from the new neuron paths and, on your part, some kind of sensory overload. Obviously, because you're my sub you get almost all of the pain. Anything _I_ get is residual or empathetic from you."

Jared nods. Of course, he knows that.

"But you already know that. Don't you? You had to, to get a twelve."

Yes, he knows it, but it doesn't help his body to understand that the pain he's feeling isn’t his own. His body only knows that it hurts.

"Everyone's got to feel it for the first time sometime, Priv- ah, Jared."

Jared nods. Jensen's right, and even if he weren't, Jared wouldn't whine to him about it. It's not his place, bonded or no.

"We've got to catch the second chow line and go get started on our training. A grunt came earlier and pushed it under the door just like Doc said. We start it today along with other bonded pairs that joined in the past couple weeks." 

Jared nods his head to show his understanding as Jensen sits down on his rack to lace up his boots.

"Someone moved your shit in here for you." 

He points to a familiar box under what is now Jared's new rack and stands.

"We won't always be together, but for the first couple of days Doc recommends pretty constant contact. Our training requires it anyway, but aside from that, he suggests we take meals together, rec time together, and he doesn't explicitly say it, but he implies we should shower, shit 'n shave together too. "

Jensen picks up a folded piece of paper and passes it to Jared, face as still as ever but eyes sparking with a bit of mischief, and despite himself, Jared is fascinated with how expressive his eyes can be when his face is almost always a blank slate.

"I suggest you read it, Private." He shakes his head slightly. "Jared. But not now 'cause chow time is in fifteen."

Jared looks up from his quick scanning of the document to see Jensen angle his chin towards a private head.

"Go on and get cleaned up and dressed. I've got to talk to a fellow Sergeant about duties, but I'll be back to head to chow together."

Jared nods. "Yes s- ah... okay... Jensen." He gives his superior officer an awkward smile before bending over stiffly to grab his shit for the head. When he gets back up and turns to go get ready, Jensen is no longer standing there watching him intently. Jared lets out a heavy sigh. Jesus Christ, what has he gotten himself into?

&&&

JENSEN

"Chris, what have I gotten myself into?"

"What are talking about, man? You've got yourself a sub. S'far as I'm concerned that can only be a good thing."

Jensen rolls his eyes exasperatedly, taking a seat on Chris' rack. "Sure, it got Sarge off my back, but Chris, it's already... I can already..."

Chris turns his head from his inspection of how tightly his t-shirt is tucked into his pants.

"You can what, Jen?"

"I can already feel him under my skin, man. Just like Jason."

" _Just_ like Jason?" Chris raises an eyebrow.

"Well, not exactly like Jason, y'know, 'cause Jase and me, we knew each other and it was... different, but I'm already getting little bursts of... of feelings," Jensen sighs. "And I can tell they're not mine. He got up earlier and I woke up too because that's how it works."

Chris nods.

"I pretended to be asleep just so I wouldn't have to talk to him. Then he fell back asleep and I tried to let him, but I couldn't stay asleep for long. And I could tell he was hurting and I couldn't leave him there confused. I had to talk to him. I just- Chris I can't- "

Jensen is aware that he's babbling, but his entire morning has been tip-toeing around this kid that he can already feel getting too close without them having even spent an entire day together.

He feels Chris's hands on his shoulders, strong and unmoving, shaking him back and forth.

"Listen to me, man. You went into this knowing what you were going into, alright. It's a war bond. You don't have to make any connection here that isn't already there. You take his protection and you treat him right, but this kid isn't Jase, and frankly, I wouldn't want him to be. You and Jase... you got a little intense there near the end."

Jensen snorts.

"You're one to talk. You and Steve are practically attached at the hip."

"Sure, but he's Steve and I'm Chris. Two separate men with two separate hearts, minds, and bodies. I know those boundaries are easily blurred, son, but you were so far up Jason’s ass that you couldn't see Jensen, man. That's why when he-"

"I didn't come here for you to analyze me." Jensen interrupts before Chris can get the rest of that sentence out. 

"Well, then what did you come for Jen? Cause I can't turn back time, man. What's done is done. You know protocol, you've been through it once before. You just gotta stick out training and make sure that things stay as professional as possible."

“Professional,” Jensen nods. He can do professional. He’d gotten a little freaked out this morning when he felt the kid’s heart rate spike in agitation and just instinctively knew, when he got up the second time, that he was worried and slightly off-balance. And even though Jensen can’t suss out the meanings of every emotion, or even pinpoint the exact mix of them yet, just the flavor of the feelings is stronger and sharper than anything he’d ever gotten from Jason.

But Chris is right. He promised himself he wouldn’t do this a second time, and he won’t. Allowing himself to go soft for Padalecki would bring nothing but pain.

And he’s a marine. If there’s anything he understands quite clearly... it’s pain.

&&&

JARED

A whistle blows.

“Alright, marines. This is called NBT: New Bonded Training. Every bonded pair has to go through it. Every bonded pair has to pass the test at the end of the two weeks in order to be put out in the field as a bonded pair. The corps puts its trust in you to rise above the ordinary call of duty as bondeds and subservient soldiers. It’s important that you understand the gravity of the decision you are about to make. Once you are bonded and have completed training, new links will have formed between you and your bondeds' mind, meaning that the separation of your minds would be extremely, extremely painful. So painful, that the only three pairs that have tried it had to be immediately institutionalized.”

At this, the Sergeant imparting such grave information gives a long, hard look to all of the pairs that are standing in a row in front of him. Jared wonders if he had to practice that look in the mirror for this speech, but decides, in the end, that that’s just how his face is. Shame.

“If you decide, at this point, to dissolve your bond you can only expect to feel slight discomfort. You should have, at this point, spent enough time with your bonded to know if you are compatible enough to proceed."

At this information Jared has to force himself to keep his expression neutral. He and Jensen had met once before they were put in those chairs. Is that not proper protocol?

"Those of you who have decided to terminate your bond because of the given information may leave now." 

No one leaves.

"Alright, then. Today's exercise will be similar to your first physical test. I'll break you into groups of four, two pairs each, for the two mile warm up. We'll head outside for the run and then you'll go through the course in pairs, being careful to stay aware of your bonded's breathing patterns, heart rate, state of exertion, and energy expenditure. You're to match your breathing to your bonded's. Stay as physically close to them as possible as you run through the course. Your heart rates will be taken when you've completed the course to see if they match. If they do not, there will be consequences. After the course, you're to drop to push up position immediately. Do one hundred push ups, clapping one hand to your bonded's in between each. I'll be there to tell what to do next. Is all of this understood? "

A chorus of “Yessir”, and then they're all jogging outside and starting to pair off.

Jared doesn't recognize anyone here. Most of the marines must be in another platoon, or must have been stationed here long enough not to run in the same circles that Jared tends to (i.e. Chad, Collins, Welling, and a couple of their fairly new acquaintances). Sarge knows some of them, though, because Jared sees him nod to a couple fellow Sergeants and even a few grunts as they try to find a pair to match up with. Most of the people he nods to don't really look like friends of his, though. They look at him respectfully and eye Jared warily, as if he's someone to be watched just because he's bonded to him. Jared's just about to walk up to one of the other subs to see if they'd want to pair off with them (maybe they could convince their bonded to get over themselves), when he hears a voice call,

"Jensen!"

The voice is loud and warm, distinctly feminine, and extremely informal. Even if she hadn't used his first name, Jared's sure everyone would know that they were much more than fellow marines.

"Danny?" Jared watches Jensen turn, a nearly blinding smile already pulling across his face. 

"Danny," he says, quieter this time, and the girl who Jared assumes is Danny jogs up to him and flings herself into his arms. Jared is pretty shocked to see Jensen just wrap his arms around her waist and tuck his face into her brilliant fiery hair. 

The hug isn't long, but it's strong and definitively intimate, and when they step away from each other a bit Jared sees Jensen's face, open and honest for a split second, before his walls come down again.

"Jesus, Danny. God, what are you doing here?"

"I finally decided to get off of my ass and do something with my life again. Preferably, live it. What are _you_ doing here? Chris writes and tells me you won't bond and here you are in NBT?"

Danny looks skeptical and Jared feels a bit out of place just awkwardly standing a couple feet away. He notices a petite, dark haired girl standing behind and slightly to the left of Danny, also looking as if she'd love to be anywhere but here. He's about to quietly march himself to where a couple of pairs are starting the warm up, but Jensen scratches behind his ear in what looks like a bit of a nervous gesture before tipping his head to call him over. Jared goes, reluctantly. God, he hates meeting new people.

"Yeah, uh... it's a bit of a long story, D, but this is my sub, Jared."

Danny gives Jensen some kind of semi-significant look and sticks her hand out for Jared to shake, a bright, flawless grin stretched across her stupidly attractive face.

Jared tentatively reaches out to shake and when he looks up from her hand to her face, there's something indefinable in her eyes. He realizes, suddenly and jarringly, that he's not getting anything from her, not even the shadow of a spark of anything. No impressions, no shivers, no nothing. He tries really hard not to let his shock show on his face.

"It's nice to meet you, Jared."

"Ah... you too, Corporal."

If at all possible her smile widens. 

"Oh, I like him."

Jared catches Jensen roll his eyes. 

"You remember Gen," Danny says, gesturing for the petite girl to move forward as well.

"Of course. Hello, Genevieve."

The girl, Genevieve, nods and smiles weakly. "Jensen."

Danneel shakes her head and then chuckles and butts her shoulder against Jensen's as they walk over to start the warm-up.

"You talked to Kane, then, huh? But I get nothing. Not one letter."

"Oh, don't even try it. It's not like you would've responded even if I had sent you anything. It'd have been all, "Hey, Danny, got your message, ah... things are same as always, y'know, the food's still shitty, and Kane's still an asshole. Hope to see you soon. -Jensen"”

Danny comes out of her comically low impression of the Sergeant as they round the first corner of the obstacle course field. 

Jensen and Danny naturally took the place in front of Genevieve and himself as the obstacle course isn't a place of immediate danger, but now, as the two of them begin to jog a bit further ahead, Jared feels forced to make small talk or something with the girl.

"So, uh... you're Danny's sub?" Jared ventures, keeping his head faced forward, his boots making the occasional dry, earth sifting, sound as he keeps a steady, rhythmic pace beside her.

"Yes," she answers shortly.

“Cool,” Jared comments. “I’m Jensen’s, obviously.”

Genevieve grunts in response, sounding completely uninterested. Jared comes to the slightly unsettling realization that he’s being _talkative_ , at least by Genevieve’s standards, apparently.

But, to be honest, Jared doesn’t so much want to chat amiably (he never does) as understand this whole sub thing from someone else’s perspective, someone who’s been through it. He’s not going to admit it to anyone or say it anywhere but inside his own head, but he’s sort of terrified now that he’s gone through with this. He doesn’t regret it, Jared makes a point of not regretting anything he does, but he is worried that he and Jensen took this process quickly. He’s just starting to understand that this bond isn’t something that’s merely functional. After getting up this morning to the sun on Jensen’s face burning his own skin, and feeling unusually flustered with the attention Jensen gave him, the _understanding_ in his voice, in his eyes, he’s starting to see that there’s a hell of a lot more to all of this than he’d previously thought.

Genevieve definitely doesn’t seem the type for small talk, anyway, and Jared generally isn’t one to care about social norms. Besides, the worse she can do is not respond and that wouldn’t be any kind of hardship for Jared. Silence is preferred where he comes from.

“So, uh... this is probably going to sound completely out of left field, but how is it? With Danny?”

Genevieve looks over at him and raises an eyebrow. Jared just waits for her to answer, still facing forward as they come around for their third lap around the course.

“That’s quite an open-ended question, kid,” she says, quietly, but not softly.

Jared just nods, ignoring the slight pinprick of agitation at being called a kid, again. He doesn’t understand why everyone looks at him and thinks “young”. He feels like he’s lived way too much life already to be called young. He lets it slide because he’s asking something from her, and that’s how it works. 

“Hmmm. It’s different,” Genevieve darts a glance at him out of the corner of her eye when Jared nods once more, and continues. “Danny and I... we’re different than other bonded pairs. I assume the basic idea is the same, though, and make no mistake it’s a full time job, Private. To be a sub you have to be strong enough to take on… everything, fucking anything. You have to be truly dedicated to your bonded in ways that they can’t teach you in training. Out in the field it won’t matter what you got on your SPAMAT, it won’t matter how close you are to rising in the ranks, and it sure as hell won’t matter that your entire platoon thinks you’re fucking each other. All that matters when you’re out there, all that should ever matter to you now, is that you bring him out alive. That when you walk away from that battle with another man’s blood on your hands you did everything you could to protect him, you did everything in your power to make sure Jensen left unscathed, unmarred, and untouchable. _He_ is your life now. He’s what you live for.”

She doesn’t say anything else throughout the entire warm up, but she really doesn’t have to. Jared’s pretty positive he doesn’t want her to. His chest is heavy with the consequences of her words, the responsibility he now has to keep another human being’s heart beating. He’s never before been so conscious of what it means to have the XTRA gene and use it like this. He’s never before been more terrified that he’ll fail. 

Jared is a lot of things, but he’s never been a quitter. He’s never been a coward. But right now he wants nothing more than to tuck tail and run like a little bitch, bust right through the fence on the outer edge of the obstacle course and let his legs carry him as fast and as far away as possible.

He feels a burst of adrenaline burn through his system, his muscles tightening in response to his instinct to _run_. It’s what he wants, almost needs. And who’d come after him? It’s not like anyone cares.  Sure, he signed his life away to the corps but after a little while of searching and not finding him, they’d probably put him down as a prisoner of war, and that’d be that. No one would cause a fuss, and his file would go cold before it even touched an officer’s desk back home. The bond would dissolve and he’d be free. Alone in a foreign country with no job, no family, and no place to stay, but free. His hands start to shake in anticipation just at the thought of it.

As they’re coming around the last turn of the last lap of the warm-up Jensen looks back at him, a question and slight concern in his eyes. It’s like a brick over the head, then, when he realizes that Jensen felt that, felt him physically freak out on the inside over Genevieve’s little pep talk. And even though he knows Jensen doesn’t know why, he still feels embarrassed enough to look away. He feels ashamed enough to calm the fuck down.

He takes a few deep breaths as they come to a stop where they started, concentrates on quieting his mind, focuses on his heart beat and finds it’s not at all difficult to get back, to rein it in and settle down. That’s at least one thing so far. Because he’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have been able to bring himself down like that before this… before Jensen.

A whistle blows, and it’s time to start the course. He and Jensen line up behind Danny and Genevieve, and when Jared looks over to Jensen, eyes drawn to him out of habit, or instinct, or maybe some combination of the two, Jensen’s looking right back. The corner of his lips tilt up in a slight smile and he raises a challenging eyebrow like _“are you ready for this?”_. And maybe Jared’s not ready for all of the other shit, but he loves a good course that can whittle him down to blood, sweat, and bone, especially when his mind won’t shut up, so when that whistle blows a second time and Sarge tells them to get their asses in gear and get a move on, Jared’s more than ready to take on the challenge.

&&&

JENSEN

Jensen’s grateful that their heart rates are the same when they finish the course because he’s got too damn much on his plate to deal with latrine duty or whatever other consequences they’d dish out if they weren’t. Danny sticks by him as they make their way over to the shooting range and Jensen has to bat away the slight irritation at her proximity. She’s a good friend, and he’s missed her, and he tells himself that there’s nothing wrong with her walking next to him like this. But his body is screaming at him to move the fuck away, his skin prickling at being so physically close to someone who isn’t his bonded. 

Jensen remembers this, too. At the very start of his bond with Jason, they’d both had a slight aversion to touching other people. It didn’t last for very long, it only happened with direct contact, and it wasn’t nearly as distracting as this burning itch to move from Danny’s side to Jared’s. Jensen refuses to walk backwards to Jared’s side, effectively looking like a tool, just to avoid a bit of discomfort, though, so he just holds out until they get to the range and holds the door for Danny and Genevieve as they walk in so that he’s closer to Jared as they pick up their rifles and line up for target practice. Holding doors is weird too, but Jensen likes to think it’s a little less insane than walking backwards, even if only by a small margin.

Jared’s shots are just as precise and deadly as the last time Jensen watched him shoot, and Jensen keeps pace with him, breathing when he breathes and changing his mags at almost the exact same time. He can’t help the semi-peaceful smile he feels start to slide onto his face. It feels good to shoot with someone, to not be held back by the ever present twinge in his shoulder at the weight of the rifle, to be in sync again. He’s surprised, actually, by just how good it feels. There’s this crazy energy bubbling up in his gut and spreading across his chest. He feels like he can do anything; like he could fly, or run across the ocean, or shoot himself in the head right now and still live. He feels like laughing and crying and screaming all at once.

When he darts a glance at Jared, the kid’s face is fierce in concentration, sweat is dripping down his temples (a drop of it slides unnoticed down his jaw), and his cheeks are red with the exertion. Jensen can’t figure out how much of this indescribable feeling is coming from Jared, doesn’t know if he’s feeling it too, why he’s feeling it at all, but he thinks he might burst into a million pieces in the next two seconds. And then Jared turns his head as if he’s checking on him, and he sees. Jared’s eyes are lit up like fire, like an explosion is happening behind his irises, and Jensen feels like throwing up with all of the fucking _feelings_ zipping through his body right now. The look only lasts a second, though it feels like an eternity, and the feeling is gone after Jared looks away, snuffed out to a left over shake in his hands. But Jensen knows what he felt and saw, and his gut clenches with the understanding that he and Jared are just starting this thing, and that’s probably not the last of whatever the hell that was.

Jensen doesn’t mention it at chow, when they’re sitting with all of Jared’s platoon buddies, and Danneel and Gen, the heat from outside and the kitchens mixing to make the air cloying and oppressively humid. He doesn’t mention it when they’re showering next to each other in complete silence, quickly scrubbing off the dirt and grime of the day with sharp efficient movements, both doing their very best to ignore the presence of the other just a foot away under the spray of the leaky shower heads. He doesn’t even mention it when they’re lying across the room from each other, both staring unseeingly at the dark ceiling in a desperate attempt to not say all of the things that are pushing to get out, heavy on their tongues and straining against the barrier of the back of their teeth. 

He listens to Jared’s tense breathing, feels the kid’s anxiety, can taste the adrenaline in the back of his throat, even. He makes a conscious decision to block it all out. Jensen puts up a barrier between their minds as best he can before rolling over onto his side, facing the wall, closing his eyes, and forcing himself to go to sleep.


	4. Part 4

# PART 4

  
  


JENSEN 

After a couple of weeks of relatively quiet coexistence Jensen notices they’ve settled into some kind of routine of ignoring each other. Not completely because they’re newly bonded, and that’s impossible, but they don’t talk, not about what’s going on anyway; not about them. They talk about stupid stuff that doesn’t matter. Jared whines about Chad, and Jensen complains about the Steve and Chris show, and they get into a rhythm of completely sidestepping the gigantic pink elephant in the room.

He and Mike are doing some gun maintenance one day, sitting side by side in comfortable silence when Mike just starts spewing _advice_ at him.

“Look, Jackels, you should just talk to him.”

“What did I say about calling me that?”

“You’re both obviously feeling some kind of way about this bond, whether it’s from how quick it formed, or how strong it is, or whatever. Avoiding him isn’t the answer, and it’s also not going to work for long. This isn’t your first rodeo, Jensen, you know that.”

“Mike, quit butting your bald head into other people’s business. Me and the kid are fine. It’s still new. We’re just workin’ through the first month jitters, alright? S’nothing to worry about.”

Jensen recognizes he’s trying to convince himself just as much as he’s trying to convince Mike and wishes it were working better.

“At least explain to him, Jensen. He’s got no clue what the fuck is going on.”

“He signed up for this, Mike. He knows what he’s doing.”

“Now, I _know_ you don’t believe that. You and Jase were fumbling around like a bunch of newborns when you first got bonded.”

“This kid isn’t Jase, Mike! Okay!? He’s not!”

Jensen hears Mike sigh and looks up from the rifle in his hands to catch a glimpse at his friend’s face. He looks tired.

“I’m not saying that Jared is Jase, Jen.”

“Good, cuz he’s not.”

“All I’m saying is that he’s probably stumbling around with no idea what to do with all this new shit going on inside him. And that it’s your job, as his bonded, to tell him. It’s your job to help him work through it. I’ve seen way too many marines snuffed out because of their refusal to take care of their own, Jen. It’s not just about you.”

Jensen knows that it’s not about him. It’s never about him. The day he stepped into those yellow footprints was the day everything he did stopped being about him alone and started to be about we, about us and them. He fights every day for this corps. Every fucking day. Mike knows that and he’s got no right to speak like he doesn’t.

Jensen clenches his jaw so tight he can hear his own teeth clack together, but he doesn’t respond for fear of saying something he can’t take back.

The silence isn’t nearly as comfortable as it was before. Mike fixes it quickly, though.

“I’m sorry, Jen, that was out of line. I just…I don’t want anything to happen to you because you don’t want to deal with your shit, okay?”

“He’s got his shit, too, Mike. We knew there’d be shit to deal with once we bonded. It was a risk we both took for our own reasons, but I’ve got no intention of going out into the field unprepared. We’ve been going to training. We’ve been with each other almost 24/7-”

“Look, I’m not asking you to cuddle with the kid, I just think you’d both benefit from a little more communication than monosyllabic grunts to ask each other to pass the salt.”

“Mikey,” Jensen groans, rolling his eyes. “I’ve asked Jared to pass the salt tons of times.”

Mike grins and shoves at him. Jensen shoves back, and they’re okay.

“Just think about it, yeah? I’m not too keen on losing another one out there.”

Jensen swallows slowly and blinks a couple times before nodding. “Yeah…yeah, sure.”

&&&

JARED 

Jared doesn’t really notice the changes in himself until they catch him by surprise. He doesn't have as much of an appetite in the morning anymore, gets most of his calories in at evening chow these days, but doesn't even realize it's what he's doing until Chad gives him this weirdly confused look that's more squinty than usual and says:

"Jay-man, you feelin' alright? You've had toast for breakfast for the past three days."

He runs differently. Even when Jensen's performing other duties during his PT he runs like he's right there next to him, like he's breathing for both of them. He starts off strong, and finishes just as strong and swears it's Jensen's heartbeat that keeps his own so steady through the exertion.

Though all of it's a little creepy, some of the changes are more worrying than others, and Jared's still not quite sure how to handle it even three weeks into the bond.

One morning he's jarred from his sleep, literally catapulted into awareness to feel his heart stuttering in his chest, pulse pounding in his fingertips and his temples, and bolts of fizzy energy skittering across his skin from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. He gasps in gulps of air, like he's dying, and feels his right hand start to gravitate towards the waistband of his shorts before he even has a conscious thought. He realizes, then, that he's so hard he could put a hole through the wall, and Jesus H. Christ, the last time he felt like this might've been when he was twelve, and mother fuckin' keyword here being _might've,_ because Jared can't honestly remember if he's _ever_ felt like this. 

Holy shit, he's turned on.

And it’s new. It’s so new, because Jared doesn’t really have much of a libido. Hasn’t for a while now, and has always figured it was a good thing. A blessing in disguise or some shit, because he wasn’t at Basic whining about how much he wanted to get his dick wet, and he wouldn’t be catching any communicable diseases from any Taiwanese hookers. But this feels fucking… God, it feels fucking amazing.

He doesn’t even stop to think about why he feels the way he does. His body moves independently of his brain, and he takes his dick in his hand without any preamble. It’s like riding a bike, he soon finds, his right hand remembers the speed he likes, every twist and pull that gets him there. He’s so hard, so wet, and it only takes a few minutes of fucking his own fist to get to the point where he feels like he’s going to topple over that edge. There are ribbons of heat knotting up at the base of his spine, and his thighs are starting to tremble with how _close_ he is.

He just needs a bit more, just-

Something, _anything_ , God-

 He feels a sudden, sharp, pain in his right nipple, like someone twisted it, but he doesn’t have the time to wonder _what the fuck_ because it’s enough. The short sting shoots right to his dick, pain snapping over into pleasure like whiplash. It’s just enough, and he’s done. He comes hard, all over himself, hissing a string of curses as he bites into his own bicep to keep quiet. 

It’s _so_ good, and he feels a slightly dopey grin start to make its way across his face as he comes down, abs tensing periodically as he milks himself through the aftershocks.

“Mmmm.” He’s just started to come back to the land of the living, and he’s thinking about getting up so he can hit the head and get clean for morning chow, when Jensen comes marching into the room.

Jared isn’t sure what’s more surprising; that it’s taken three weeks for him to see Jensen bare-ass naked after coming back from the head, or that Jensen is rooting through his shit for boxers with a _blush_ on his face.

It’s a nice ass, Jared’s secure enough in his own sexuality, or lack thereof, to be able to acknowledge and even appreciate it in a sort of abstract way. But Jensen… _blushing_? 

And it definitely is a blush, Jared’s certain, because Jensen never gets this red during training.

He’s just as stoic as ever and he doesn’t hide or turn away as he’s getting dressed, despite the redness of his face, so Jared’s not even sure he knows it’s there. Jared takes a second to feel Jensen, to actually open himself up to the sensations that he’s always running away from, and notices that his own heartbeat hasn’t slowed down all that much even though there’s no reason for it to still be beating so quickly. It’s Jensen’s heart beat pulling his heart rate up. His own lungs feel full, like he can’t quite get enough air, and after a second he realizes that’s coming from Jensen as well. It’s really hard to distinguish between what’s his own body, and what Jensen’s body is making his body do, but once he concentrates, Jared gets it.

“Oh my God, you just jerked off in the shower.”

“ _Excuse_ me?”

And now he’s mortified. Awesome. He’s obviously been around Chad way too long if he’s just letting shit spew out of his mouth like that.

“Ah… nothing. Nothing, um… I’m gonna…”

Jared stumbles up from his rack, snatches up his pack from the desk they have in the corner, and is heading toward the door so he can _get away_ but Jensen’s voice stops him cold.

“Did you feel that?”

Jared sighs. Jensen isn’t going to let him go. He turns and walks slowly back to sit down on his rack, careful to angle his body in a way that makes the wet spot on the front of his shorts less noticeable. Ugh. This is going to be the most uncomfortable conversation he’s had since Jeff tried to give him the sex talk when he was nine.

“Yeah. I didn’t know it was you, really. I just felt- and then I- but it wasn’t like- Fuck, I really _am_ turning into Chad.”

“Murray? God, I hope not,” Jensen remarks, voice muffled as he pulls his green t-shirt over his head. “You do spend a good amount of time with him, though, I must say.”

Jared watches him tuck his shirt into his pants and sits down opposite him, on his own rack. He sighs and runs a hand roughly through his short, dark blonde hair. Jared’s own scalp tingles at the touch, like fingers are threading through _his_ hair. 

“Listen, we never… talked about any of this… shit.”

“What do you mean, this shit?”

“Don’t be obtuse, Jared. Stop trying to make this more difficult than it has to be, just-”

“No offense, _sir_ , but I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. Abstractly, sure, I know what I feel, but I’m not sure what there is to say. It’s what I’ve been trained for. I get what I’m meant to do.”

“You’ve been trained for _some_ of it. You’ve been prepared for none of it. Look, I’m not trying to say you don’t know what you’re doing. I know you’re a good marine. You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t, and you sure as hell wouldn’t be my sub if you weren’t, but Mike is right. You can’t do this alone, and you shouldn’t have to.”

Jensen looks him in the eye then, and Jared can’t do anything but nod, because maybe he _would_ like to be able to talk to someone about it. But he honestly doesn’t think he can handle that someone being Jensen. Especially not after this morning.

“Jensen, I really appreciate your trying to talk to me about this. Honestly, I do, but I can’t. I can’t just do that, y’know?” Jared shakes his head, upset at his own inability to speak. “I’m sorry.”

Jensen clears his throat. “S’okay. I can feel you’re uh… you’re sort of freaking out.”

Jared’s fingers twitch as his breath hitches in his chest. He closes his eyes for a second and breathes out. “And _that_ , that doesn’t help at all. I’m gonna go.” Jared pushes himself to his feet and makes his way to and out of the door this time, not stopping at Jensen’s call. 

“Jared!”

He just shakes his head and keeps moving. He can’t _do_ this, right now. Why doesn’t Jensen get that? He can hardly _think_ when Jensen’s in the same room with him if he opens himself up to it all. And then Jensen says things like that and he just… 

He has to go.

+++

He tells himself he's not searching for Chad for reassurance; he just hasn't really talked to him in a while. He’s been too busy with training and Jensen to have any time with the only sort-of-friend he has in this place. But he’s never been that great at lying to himself. To others, sure, but never to himself. 

When he gets to barracks, the only ones there are Collins and a few others that Jared doesn’t know by name. Two of the youngest in their platoon are sparring in a makeshift circle cleared out by pushing racks to the outer edges of the barracks. They’re both grappling for a proper hold on each other, neither gaining the upper hand as their fingers slip on sweat-slicked skin. There’s a couple of really loud conversations going on all at once, but Jared hears Collin’s distinctive laugh, and sees him throw his head back, the center of a group of grunts all listening avidly to whatever bullshit he’s feeding them. Jared finds it irritating and really uncomfortable to have to interrupt whatever “locker room” talk is going on right now, but he’s got to find Chad. 

“Hey, Collins,” he says, cutting him off mid-sentence.

“Paddycakes,” Collins says, voice warm, and serene smile brightening for some unfathomable reason.

“You seen Murray around?”

His clear blue eyes seem to sharpen at the question.

“Funny you should ask that. We all were just saying how we haven’t seen him around since four days ago when a certain Sergeant Bush cornered him in the chow line and asked him to begin the bonding process. We’re all pretty sure we saw Squint’s tongue roll out onto the floor.”

Jared smiles slightly, because that sounds like Chad.

“Any idea where he’d be if he’s with the Sergeant?”

Collins shrugs. “Shooting range?”

“S’my best guess,” one of the nameless guys says.

Jared nods. “Thanks.” 

He turns quickly, in a hurry to escape any kind of curiosity, and also to find Chad, but he’s stopped right as he’s stepping out of barracks by Collins’ hand on his shoulder. The touch agitates him more than it should. 

“Hey, if you find him, you should ask him about the run into town we’re planning. Grunt trip for supplies is coming up, and he should definitely be in on that. You both should.”

“Will do, man. Thanks,” Jared says back, shaking away Collins’ touch.

And then he’s marching toward the shooting range.

Once there, Jared spots Chad’s scruffy, bright blonde head right away. He looks like he’s just standing there in a daze at first, and then Jared realizes he’s staring _at_ someone. A short, dark haired woman with a pixie cut and a slight snarl on her lips is shooting off rounds like she’s possessed or something, and Chad looks impossibly enthralled.

When she’s done Jared sees her say something to Chad and him give her a sharp nod. He only catches her profile as they talk, but he thinks he sees her cut a quick smile at him before walking to set her rifle back on the shelves and leaving the range. After two minutes of watching Chad stare after her while fumbling with his rifle, Jared goes up to Chad and starts pulling him outside as well because he knows he won’t want to speak over all of the banging and popping of the target practice.

“Dude, what’s up with the dopey look?” Jared asks when they’ve gotten out and started walking back toward the barracks. Chad doesn’t even sound the slightest bit embarrassed when he says:

“She’s amazing. She _feels_ amazing. We’re not even fucking bonded yet, and I can already, like, sense her or some shit. Like I’m opening up for her or…I just…I feel so full.”

Jared can’t hold back his bark of laughter at Chad’s questionable word choice.

“Oh, fuck you man. You know what I mean! God, if this is how it is for you and Sarge, I don’t get why you’re always complainin’.” Chad grumbles.

Jared quiets at that.

“Well, first off, Squint, I was never empty. I was always feeling someone else’s shit, and it only ever got worse as I got older. And, anyways, Jensen’s…with Jensen it’s almost too much, y’know? I get so much at one time from him sometimes, it’s like I’m not even fucking human, just this overflowing channel of…just _him_. All I feel anymore is him. Sometimes I just-”

Chad looks too intent now, so Jared stops talking.

“What happened, Jay-man?”

“Nothing.”

“Nope, not buying it. Sell me another one.”

“Chad,” Jared whines.

“No. You started, you have to finish. That’s the rule.”

“Since when?”

“Since now.”

Jared just sighs. There’s no fighting Chad when he gets all snippy so he might as well just give him the abridged version. 

“Jay-Bird?”

“I told you not to call me that,” Jared snipes, kicking up dust with his heels.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Jensen jerked off in the shower this morning.”

“So?”

“And I felt it.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute, wait a fucking minute, are you telling me that I’ll be able to feel Sergeant Bush have an orgasm once we’re bonded?”

“Chad, this is not about you.”

“Right, sorry. Continue.”

“It was…”

“Awesome?”

Jared can’t help but grin at that because, yeah, it kind of was but…

“Yeah, but it also freaked me out. I didn’t realize until he came in y’know? That it was him. And then when I let myself just listen, just sort of let go, everything was right there, just waiting at the surface. I could feel it all.”

Chad is quiet. 

“He ran his fingers through his hair, and I felt it on _my_ scalp. He didn’t even pull all that hard. How am I supposed to be me _and_ him at the same time? How am supposed to… to…”

“Keep you separate from him?”

Jared takes a breath. “Yeah.”

Chad shrugs. “I don’t know, man. I’m not sure you’re supposed to try. I mean, you’ve seen how Sergeant Kane and Corporal Carlson are. They’re stuck to each other like glue. And Tom said he pretty much forgets everything but his own name around Gunny Rosenbaum.”

“Tom got bonded?”

“Not yet. To be honest, I think he just wants to fuck him, but he swears it’s more ‘n that. Anyway, after spending some time with Sergeant Bush, I can’t knock it, can I?”

“I don’t know, Chad. I’ve seen some other bonded pairs around, y’know? In training, and everything. It doesn’t ever seem like they have too much trouble with the separation thing.”

“Well, you’re sensitive, right? You said so yourself. Like your XTRA gene was mutated or something?”

“I don’t know if it’s a mutation, Chad, I think it was just-”

“Whatever it is, it’s something out of the norm. And it makes you more sensitive to shit. Maybe that’s just transferring over to Jensen now. Like, before you were accepting of everyone’s shit, and now you’re just taking Jensen’s, but because it’s just him you get more of it.”

“Chad… that actually makes a lot of sense.”

“Eh, I’m just thinking out loud.”

“No, seriously.”

Chad nudges him in the side as they walk.

“I mean, it makes sense that I can shut him out, too. Like I used to be able to do with everyone.”

“You’ve been shutting him out?”

“Just sort of muting him, I guess?”

Chad cuts him a disapproving look. 

“I know it’s bad, but it helps keep me sane. Besides, I’m pretty sure he’s been doing it, too. He said he could feel me today, and he’s never said anything like that before. He’s maybe hinted he could guess, or get some sort of impression, but this time he _knew_. I’m not sure I’m comfortable with him knowing me like that.”

“It’s a bit too late to realize that isn’t it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

&&&

JENSEN

The thing about Jared is that he's absolutely nothing like Jason. Jason was pretty much Jensen's opposite in most everything. He was open. Way more open than is safe to be as a marine, and he was young, vibrant in a way that made Jensen feel like he was staring into the sun every time he watched him smile.

Jared's young physically, only eighteen, but sometimes he'll get this faraway look in his eyes like he's seeing things no one his age should have to, remembering a lifetime far beyond Jensen's grasp. When Jensen closes his eyes for a second and stops trying to wall him off, when he really feels Jared, he tastes like rain. He smells like damp earth. He sounds like howling wind, ghostly, hollow, magnificently strong, and he feels like....

He feels like the very beginnings of a tropical storm, when the air is heavy, saturated and wet, smelling of green life and sea salt. The wind whistles gently by your ears, tickles through the spaces between your fingers as if in greeting, and you know the sky is going to open up in about two seconds and pour out a torrent of angry tears, and the wind will become more and more vicious until it feels as if it’s eating away at your bones, and you’ll be so fucking angry that you’ll want to rip apart the earth with your bare hands, but right now, in this second, you feel connected.

The world around you is waiting, still, silent, and imminent, and you almost anticipate the coming chaos because it feels as inevitable as breathing, as right as death after life, it feels…indescribably electric. He feels like the start of a storm.

Jensen looks out of his window at the stark morning light and realizes that it’s been unusually dry for this time of year.


	5. Part 5

# PART 5

  
  


JENSEN 

“Alright, grunts, you’re gonna stick with your team leader. Do not leave and wander off at any point in time. We will not find you. There will be no roll call. Your ass’ll be stuck out in rural Taiwan at the mercy of any commie that wants to blow your head off.”

Jensen gives Chris a reproachful look, but he ignores him as usual. Steve just smiles amusedly at his bonded’s antics, no actual help at all.

“Let’s go! Grab your packs and get a move on.”

They all start down the road in formation, but by the time they’re half way there, Jensen can see his grunts are getting antsy. They’re starting to look more at their surroundings than at the head in front of them as the occasional house starts to crop up, animals behind fences making the odd noise. They mumble amongst themselves, and they’re loosening and lengthening their strides. 

Jensen lets it slide. Technically, they’re off duty, all of them on liberty, and this trip is for bonding time just as much as it’s a trip for supplies.

Jensen takes to watching Jared as they walk. He’s got his cover on, and he’s looking to the right to talk to that Murray kid so Jensen can only see his profile, but it’s enough to tell that Jared’s smiling. His dimples have come out full force, and his cheek is raised, and Jensen never sees him like this. He’s never relaxed or content when they’re together. He always seems so guarded. Jensen can’t blame him; he’s the same. But just seeing how easy it is for _Murray_ to get a smile out of Jared is pissing him off. 

Then he remembers he’s not supposed to care. How is it any of his business, what makes Jared smile? That has no bearing at all on the field, and the fight, and the bond. Jared doesn’t need to be happy, he needs to be prepared. He needs to be ready to defend Jensen with his life. They’re training for war, damnit. Real sorry if that doesn’t include giggling pillow fights and painting each other’s toe nails. Jensen firmly reminds himself that he has no reason to feel guilty about the way he’s been handling things. And he’s got no right to feel…unsettled by how easy Chad and Jared seem to fit together. 

He turns to face forward and keeps on walking.

+++

When they get to the marketplace, things are already bustling. Most of the booths are up and open, decorative lights hang from clotheslines strung between the squat buildings on the small street, orange glow reflected across every surface. There are tons of locals milling around, and merchandise of every kind imaginable. Little kids in bare feet chase each other back and forth behind the stands, and mothers negotiate prices in rapid, overlapping shouts of mixed Mandarin and Hokkien. 

Jensen is watchful as the grunts separate from the group when something catches their eye. Most Taiwanese are glad for the presence of the U.S. military as it keeps them safe from rebel factions and groups of extremists that believe the best way to resolve the issues between the Republic of China and the People’s Republic of China is to blow everything to pieces. There are some who think the opposite, though; those who resent the U.S. for even being on Taiwanese soil and daring to think they should get involved in Chinese affairs that go back centuries, despite the government’s cry for help. Nowhere is safe, and his entire platoon would do well to remember that.

“Chris,” he calls, jerking his chin to the left to ask for him to come closer.

“S’up Jenny-boy?”

Jensen rolls his eyes at the nickname, but doesn’t bother to correct his friend this time. “Look sharp, alright? There’s no telling what could go down at these kinds of open markets, you know that. Keep your eyes and ears open for any kind of threat.”

“You got it, Jen,” Chris nods crisply before making his way over to a booth on the left and scanning the street cautiously.

Jensen keeps himself moving from booth to booth, never stopping too long at any one thing. He keeps track of where all of his men are any one time, doubly aware of Jared about six feet away at all times, feelings warm and soft, like freshly laundered sheets bunched up behind his ribs. He knows Jared’s having a good time with his platoon, and that’s what matters most, really. 

He doesn’t go up to his bonded. It would be awkward and unusual, and anyway, after the whole “I felt you bring yourself off in the shower” thing, Jensen’s prepared to talk about it all, sure, but certainly no more willing than he was before to have a discussion about their ever present _feelings_ and the _future of their bond._

He knows it’s necessary. He’s not dumb enough to ignore the fact that they _do_ need to have that conversation, and soon, but he’s laid all of his cards on the table. Jared’s going to have to be the one to start the conversation next time. Or else ignore the distress of not knowing what the hell is going on. 

But Jared doesn’t seem the type to run forever. No, he’ll confront this at some point. And when he does, Jensen will be ready.

&&&

JARED

The marketplace is interesting. It’s not really the booths themselves, which are covered in all kinds of shit to entertain and feed the locals, and any other patron that happens to be passing through. It’s not the way the women bicker over prices, because despite not recognizing the language that they speak, Jared knows haggling when he hears it. It’s not even the obvious simplicity in which they live their lives, but the fact that in all of this there’s still a tension in the air when they walk through. The men that are there straighten their backs and sneak wary glances at them out of the corners of their eyes. It’s like they’re hanging in the balance of being grateful for and resenting their presence, and for the first time, Jared realizes that they’re not completely welcome here. To be fair, they eye each other warily as well. But Jared’s never spared much thought to how the people of the Republic of China feel about U.S. Marines on their land. 

He always just assumes that he’s doing good. He’s taking orders, he’s fighting for his country, and that’s that. He doesn’t need to know anything else to be able to do his job, and do it well. But in this strange place, with orange lights glowing, and “traditional” Chinese garb being sold for 100 Yuan a piece, the men’s open disapproval catches him off guard, and he suddenly understands…

This is war. 

These people sitting out here, with their dirt smudged faces, and their land roughened hands, they’re dying. They’re angry and dying. 

They can’t fight for themselves, so Jared’s here to fight for them, but for just a second he imagines what would happen if he didn’t go into war for these people. These people with families, and jobs, and worries; these people who feel hunger, and despair, and joy; these people with skin browner, eyes wider, hair darker, but blood just as red as his running through their veins. He imagines a Taiwan without protection and sees destruction, and chaos, and death….so much death.

Jared doesn’t want to be in the group of people who sits by and let’s that happen. He won’t ever let happen.

He feels a light tug at the leg of his pants and looks down to see a small girl, maybe around four or five, holding up a light pink flower with sweetly rounded petals and colorful spore. Her eyes are huge, staring at him seriously, just waiting. Jared reaches out tentatively to take the flower while crouching down to her level.

“For me?” he says, softly.

The little girl doesn’t seem to understand what he asked, but she smiles anyway, her grin adorably uneven and missing a few teeth. Jared grins back, completely unable to help himself. He knows Chad and a few of the others are staring at him, but his heart literally melts at the sight of that smile, and he can’t force himself to keep stoic in the face of it all. He tucks the flower behind his ear and is rewarded with a soft, bubbly giggle before the little girl runs off behind a booth to hide behind her mother’s legs. 

The rest of the walk through is filled with laughter at lame-ass jokes from Chad, and furtive, but most probably not unnoticed, glances at Jensen, who seems to be no less than six feet away from him at all times.

Jared does his best not to think about the unavoidable mess that is his bond with Jensen right now. He knows that he’s got to be the one to talk this time. Jensen has tried to start the conversation before, and Jared always runs because that’s what he knows to do when he’s terrified, and Jensen fucking terrifies him. But it’s a fact of life that they have to go into combat together, and Jared would be an idiot to let this affect their bond to the point that he can’t defend or protect Jensen properly. 

He has to talk eventually. And he will. Right then and there, in the middle of the Night Market Jared makes a promise to himself that he will. 

He breathes in deep, the smell of all kinds of food assaulting his nose. Underneath it, though, he catches the heavy scent of rain, something deep and earthy.

But he won’t tonight. Tonight, he’s going to see how much merch he can squeeze out of 800 Yuan. 

And possibly snacks…because whatever that pink thing is with the strawberry on top looks fucking fantastic.

&&&

JENSEN

Of course Jared picks the most awkward time ever to decide he’s ready to talk. They’re in the middle of an impromptu hand to hand combat drill (ie. a stupid wrestling match to blow off steam), Jensen’s got him partially pinned to the floor of the rec room, one of Jared’s wrists in his grasp, pulling his arm behind him in a rough twist. And Jared just bursts out with;

“I know I’m not the best at this.”

At first Jensen thinks he’s talking about the sparring, but Jared’s a fairly good opponent, to be quite honest, and despite his penchant for modesty Jensen knows he’s not completely blind to his own talents. Besides the tone of his voice, strained and reluctant, being forced out through clenched teeth, belies a much more weighted topic. 

And then he gets it. Goddamned idiot.

“Jared, do you really think _now_ is the right time to- Oomph!”

Jensen gets tossed back on his ass as Jared slips out from under his hands in some quick, crafty maneuver, bowing his back and bucking him off. He pushes himself up quick, circling Jared as Jared circles him.

“If not now, then when, Jensen? You’re lucky I found the balls to open my mouth at all.”

Jared comes in for a solid right jab that Jensen sees coming. He blocks it, barely misses the left hook that comes after it. He does miss it, though, throwing out a few less than precise jabs himself, in an effort to catch Jared by surprise. He’s too quick to try to catch with strategy.

He misses.

“Sure,” he answers to that shortly. “So, you’re not the best at what? Bonding?”

“Yeah, at being bonded, y’know? All of this shit, it’s… I’m not used to being… so easily read.”

Jared looks really perturbed by the idea of being easily read, and Jensen takes advantage of that minor distraction to ram an elbow into his vulnerable side. Jared buckles, and Jensen takes advantage of that too. He knees him in the stomach just a bit softer than he would someone he actually wants to hurt. Just a _bit_ softer.

Jared takes it in stride, though, falls to the dirt and sweeps his foot out so quick that Jensen doesn’t register the move until it’s too late.

He’s on his back before he can blink, looking up into eyes the deep indistinguishable color of the sea, one strong, bony forearm pressing into his throat and choking off his airways.

“Ja-Ja-re-,” he tries to push past the pressure against his trachea. But it’s no fucking use, because he’s actually not getting any air right now. 

He ignores the burning in his lungs and tries to get his foot around Jared’s ankle to get some leverage. Maybe he could flip him over. But Jared’s got his hip bones pressed right up against Jensen’s, not letting him buck up at all, and Jensen can feel himself slowing down. He’s not going to be able to take much more of this. He tries brute force in slight panic when he looks at Jared’s eyes and doesn’t see anything recognizable.

What the fuck is going on?

He sees Jared struggling to breathe as well, because of course Jensen can’t feel pain, can’t actually hurt without it registering with him instead. But whether it hurts Jensen or not doesn’t matter. He can’t _breathe_.

He fights.

He knows, logically, that his pushing against the arm isn’t doing anything but tiring himself out further, quicker (Jared has too much leverage), but he has to try anyway. His drive to live is just too damn strong.

_ Jared! _

Jensen’s not getting through to him. Jared’s blinking is slowing down, too. He’ll probably pass out immediately after Jensen does.

And God, he might die here, in the fucking rec room of all places. Not out on the field, not protecting someone he should be, hell not even because his bonded’s dead, but because his bonded’s fucking crazy, and has decided to murder him.

God, fuck, _NO_. Jensen does not want to die. He doesn’t want _Jared_ to die. Not here, not anywhere. But certainly not here.

_ Jared!  _

He grasps at every stitch of feeling inside himself, everything he’s ever felt from and for Jared, feelings he hasn’t even taken the time to examine and justify, just a big giant mess of emotions, and wills it to Jared through the bond.

He feels despair, like a knife through the chest it’s so sharp, just as his vision starts to fade, and it’s all…

gone. Suddenly it’s gone. The pressure’s gone and he’s dragging in gasps of air that he’s sure are raking, burning down Jared’s throat right now. He flips them over fast, not completely trusting Jared not to do it again. He presses Jared’s wrists into the floor above his head and looks down at his face.

Jared looks _wrecked._ He’s terrified. Jensen can feel how desperate he is right now to just be _away._ But he’s not going to let this one go. He can’t. Whatever this is between them, he can’t let go of it now. Even with not knowing how it’ll turn out. Even with not really knowing Jared, not really being sure if he wants to know him, he can’t let him go. He squints at his bonded, for the first time legitimately scared by whatever it is that makes their bond so strong.

“What the fuck… just happened?” Jensen tries to speak with authority, but it comes out sounding like he’s swallowed a handful of rusty nails, which sort of ruins the illusion a bit.

“I… I don’t…,” Jared mumbles. 

And that’s just not fucking good enough.

“No, Jared. I need you to tell me what just happened, because from this end it looks like you might be bat-shit insane and a danger to everyone around you.”

“Do you really believe that?”

“It doesn’t matter what I _believe_ Jared. You just tried to kill me. I think I’m taking that shit remarkably well, don’t you?”

Jared just sort of slumps in on himself at that. 

“You had to feel it wasn’t you, Jensen. If you can feel when I’m freaking out, I know you felt that none of that was about you.”

“No, I’m sorry, I was too busy feeling your arm across my throat. Why don’t you elaborate?” Jensen responds sarcastically. 

Jared sighs, like this is all so taxing. Fuck him.

“I went through some stuff when I was younger, okay? I guess thinking about being... vulnerable to you and then having you fucking elbow and knee me in the gut threw me back a bit.” 

So now he’s blaming his crazy on Jensen?

Jensen takes a second to feel him out, try to get what’s going through his head. Jared feels a bit angry still, but the guilt and confusion flooding through him right now is overwhelming.

Jensen softens his tone unconsciously.

“Jared, believe me, if anyone understands triggers it’s me, but you didn’t fight to defend just then, you fought to kill. You fought for your life.”

Jared sighs. “It’s the only way I know _how_ to fight. I held back a bit before mostly because I didn’t like hurting you. Even though I’d feel most of it, you still ended up with some damage. But you just… you caught me off guard. My body just responded.”

Jensen ignores the slight irritation that rises up at the idea of Jared holding back anything with him, but especially holding back because he thinks Jensen can’t take a beating. He pushes it to the back of his mind to deal with later and asks a question instead. “What kind of life did you live that taught you to fight like that?”

Jensen asks it cautiously, but Jared just gives him a look, stubborn despite being sprawled out spread eagle in the dirt with his hands above his head.

“Jared, I just need to understand.”

Jared shakes his head. “Not yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not ready. Besides, it’s not like you don’t have secrets, too. I feel the twinge in your shoulder every time you fire a rifle. And I caught a glimpse of that medal you keep in your pocket that one time. I don’t pry into your business, you don’t pry into mine.”

Jensen sighs. “…His name was Jason.”

“I don’t-” Jared licks his lips. “I’m not asking you to tell me.”

“I know. But you’re right; you’re not too good at this bonding thing. But neither am I. We both should try harder. So, I’m gonna tell you something that I’ve only told one other person in my life, because as my bonded you have the right to know. But before I do, I need you to tell me what it was that I felt right before you almost killed me.”

Because Jensen is sure he felt something. That sharp clench in his chest didn’t come from him. That was all Jared.

“You were dying.”

That doesn’t answer his question.

“And?”

“And I didn’t want you to die. That wasn’t about you. It wasn’t you under my hands. I couldn’t even see you. But I could feel you. And when you sent all of that… to me… I didn’t even know it was possible but…”

Jared looks over at him now, holding Jensen’s eyes with his own. “I felt it. I felt you and me, and all that you meant for me, to me. I felt all that I meant to you. And I didn’t get all of it. Hell, half of it didn’t make any sense at all. But I knew it was you. And I didn’t… I couldn’t deal with you being dead. For the few seconds that I outlived you, it’d destroy me.”

Jensen can feel that he means every single word he says.

“Jason was my first bonded. And it’s my fault he’s dead. I killed him.”


	6. Part 6

# PART 6

  
  


JARED

Jared isn’t as uncomfortable after their non-conversation as he’d thought he’d be. A lot came out in that fight that should have just prompted more questions, more tension, less understanding. But after showing Jensen that he’s just a little bit fucked up, and seeing that Jensen is just a little bit fucked up too, he feels almost free. Jensen is human. He’s not just some robotic jarhead who shoots at the bad guys and bosses his grunts around. He’s not quite as closed, not quite as guarded as he’d been. 

The walls are broken down now. Not completely; Jared isn’t sure that’ll ever be possible, but he and Jensen talk now, way more than they did before, and about things that matter. Jared lets himself feel it when Jensen bites his lip in concentration at the shooting range, or slices his thumb open when he shaves too quickly before chow. He just sucks his lower lip between his teeth, or presses into the sting on his thumb until it becomes a dull throb, and keeps on moving. He’s beginning to learn how to handle it when his breathing or heartbeat changes suddenly without any reason. He can recognize whether the tiredness he feels at the end of a day is mostly from Jensen, or mostly from himself. 

And Jensen’s starting to get when Jared needs his space, when his mind is so cluttered he can’t do anything but shoot rounds all day, or sit and “listen” to Chad’s babbling. He doesn’t push as much anymore, or really he just knows when to push, when to talk, and when to just… be there. 

Jared thinks they’re closer now, or would like to think so, because he hasn’t ever talked to anyone the way he talks to Jensen. He hasn’t ever wanted to. 

Not after his father died. Certainly not after his mother went crazy, or after Jeff left, or after those sons of bitches took Megan away. Just one thing after the other, everyone and everything falling to pieces. And Jared couldn’t control a damn thing.

It’s part of why those small moments when Jensen pushes his own feelings back at Jared are some of the calmest he’s ever had. Jensen knows when he needs it, and he gives it to him, and it’s almost as natural as breathing, the way it happens. It’s a subtle push, gentle and controlled, and easy. So easy, the way Jared can just open up for him that way. And then there’s peace. Just an incredible amount of peace, which always, without fail, makes Jared want to wrap himself up in Jensen’s arms and stay there forever.

And that’s ridiculous, stupidly girly, and fucking impossible, so Jared shoves the idea away every time, but the want is there. It’s just simmering under his skin whenever he feels Jensen _right there_ , like he’s twisted up inside Jared and there’s no getting away, and God, Jared doesn’t even know if he wants to get away anymore.

And that’s just as enticing as it is terrifying.

+++

“Sophia told me she and Murray are bonding in a week. She just told him today. The kid’s going to be bouncing off of the fucking ceiling and you know I hardly tolerate him on a good day.”

Good day for Jensen being a curiously quiet day for Chad.

“So what, you want to eat with Kane, Carlson and Gunney Rosenbaum?”

It’s still weird calling Chris and Steve “Chris and Steve”, but Jensen looks like he wants to burst out laughing every time Jared uses their ranks, so they compromise with last names. 

“I think I’ve had enough of the “piss all over the new grunt” show for this week. Thanks, but no thanks,” Jared continues.

Jensen raises his eyebrows in that look that’s two parts disapproving, one part what Jared’s starting to recognize as affection. And it’s _still_ odd to see any kind of emotion in those features, so this look always gets his attention. 

“You know the guys don’t mean anything by it.”

“Sure, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying.”

Jensen shrugs, nicking his chin with his razor _again_ , for like the third time in the past minute. Goddamned sadist, Jared swears he’s doing it on purpose now. Jensen doesn’t care about the slightly uneven shave or the small, almost nonexistent cuts that fade away twice as fast as normal, with Jared’s body working with his to heal them.

As long as Jared is agitated, Jensen is amused.

“Come on, at least let’s sit with Gen and Danny. I’m pretty sure they won’t try to maim me as often.”

“Try to “maim” you? The fuck?”

Jensen gives him a confused look before bursting into loud, annoying guffaws, smile so big that his eyes crinkle at the corners, and Jared feels warm. He did that. Why does that feel so fucking good?

“H’oh my God, Jared… say maim again.”

“Fuck you,” Jared says instead, shoving Jensen out of his space and out of the way as he goes back into quarters to tug on his boots and his belt.

He hears Jensen follow him in to do the same. He’s still chuckling.

“Oh hardy, har, har, yeah get a good laugh in Sarge, but see if I sit next to you during chow if you walk over there.”

It doesn’t sound like much of a threat, but he and Jensen both know that it feels like ants crawling all over his skin whenever he gets that close to other people when Jared’s not next to him. Jared feels it too, he’s just better at ignoring it. He’s had years of handling feelings like that.

But Jensen can’t _stand_ it. He’s quick to either drag Jared along to places where they’ll be in close quarters, or just keep a good, long distance between himself and everyone else.

The bond’s not quite so new anymore, it shouldn’t be as strong a feeling as it is, their draw to each other and away from everyone else, but if anyone finds it weird, they haven’t said anything.

Jared’s sure that the comment will shut Jensen up, and it does, but Jensen gets retribution in the form of a hard hip-check that sends Jared stumbling as they’re walking toward the chow hall.

Jared just rolls his eyes and grins. He can’t help but do that more and more often these days.

When they get out of line and Jensen heads in the direction of the guys, Jared’s all ready to follow through on his threat, despite how uncomfortable it’ll be for both of them. Then he notices that Jensen is waving past the guys, and sees Danny and Gen.

He smiles slightly and makes his way over.

“Hey, guys. Not sitting with Chris, Steve, and Mikey tonight?”

“Nah, Jared needed a break,” Jensen says.

“Ah,” Danneel says with a wry twist to her mouth. “Understandable.”

Jared nods, still not completely comfortable around Danneel, despite how genuinely friendly she is. She’s a spitfire and back home, she and Jared would probably have been thick as thieves, literally. He could see her getting into just as much mischief as he’s prone to, on purpose and without any regret whatsoever. But he just can’t find it in him to like her. He doesn’t call her a bitch to her face or anything, but he doesn’t really say much to her when she’s around.

As Danny reaches across the table to snatch a fry from Jensen’s plate with a charming _giggle_ Jared remembers why. The two of them have history that he doesn’t know, doesn’t understand, and that fucks with his head something fierce. 

Jared watches Danny reach over again, saying something else irrelevant with her stupid pouty, pink lips, and running a small hand through Jensen’s sweaty hair.

Jared does his best to hide his _seething_ but it must not work that well because Gen gives him a small private smile and kicks his foot under the table.

He shoots her a grateful look just for understanding and tells himself to remember to thank her, and to ask her how she deals with the constant flirting. Because he knows, by now, that whether Danneel knows it or not, Genevieve would do just about anything for her, up to and including fucking dying just so Danny doesn’t break a nail or something. It’s got to be rough seeing Danneel eye-fuck Jensen like this. Of course, Genevieve isn’t the one currently digging her nails into her palms to keep from touching Jensen just to show Danny that… that… well he doesn’t know what, but to show her something.

“Jen tells me you’re going on patrol soon?”

“Uh… yeah. Delta 2 is heading out on a run to check out Tiapei… see what’s going down, y’know?”

“Yeah, I know. You’re not going to pussy out on my boy here, are you? Type 95’s tend to look a little more dangerous in 3D, face to barrel," Danny says, teasinly.

“Danny,” Jensen chastises.

“Nah, it’s cool,” Jared says, eyes never leaving Danneel’s semi-challenging stare. “Look, you don’t know me, and I don’t owe you shit, but for the record, the second I signed on the dotted line was the second I decided nothing would keep me from protecting Jensen. But you probably wouldn’t understand that kind of dedication what with shitting all over your bonded’s dedication to you.”

“Jared,” Jensen says, voice a little shocked, a little more disapproving.

Jared couldn’t care less. Danneel’s comment burns him up on the inside. He’s so angry he could spit nails.

“So until you get your own shit together I suggest you fuck off, Danneel. ‘Cause you and I? We’re not friends. Not even a little. And that means anything you have to say to me? Is worth fuck all. Gen, I’ll see you later.” Jared nods to Genevieve and she nods slightly back, looking a little shell shocked, but not angry, and again he’s grateful. 

Jared doesn’t even stay to see Jensen take the bitch’s side. He just gets up and makes his way back to quarters. 

How fucking dare she? She doesn’t know anything about Jared, or what he’s had to deal with. She doesn’t know anything about just how much he’s willing to die for Jensen, and how much of that dedication doesn’t come from duty anymore. 

Fuck her.

Fuck Jensen.

Fuck everyone to hell and back, man. He is not trying to deal with any of this shit. 

+++

Jensen gives him time to cool down and doesn’t show up until a few hours after chow, boots nearly silent against the cement deck as he walks into the room.

Jared lets him speak first, not moving from his sprawl across his rack, eyes trained on the setting sun outside the window.

“That was rude.”

And just like that his anger flares up again. “ _She_ was rude. How dare that bitch imply-”

“Watch your mouth,” Jensen growls. “Danny’s like family.”

“Oh yeah, family that wants to ride your dick.”

“Excuse you?”

“I’m not an idiot Jensen. There was no reason for her to say that. There was no reason for her to try to challenge me like _that_.”

“Jared, she’s just worried about me. She’s an old friend-”

“She asked me if I’d let you die. She asked if I’d run away if shit went FUBAR while we were out there. I’m a subservient soldier. What kind of fucking question is that Jensen?”

“A valid one.”

At this, Jared turns to look at him.

“What are you saying?”

“I’m just saying that she’s right to want to know, Jared. I have to know that you’ll be there.”

And there’s nothing in Jensen’s face. Not a hint of tell, of anything. It’s all blank. He’s hiding behind the thickest wall Jared has seen since they started this thing.

There are no words for just how much that one sentence hurts. It slices him to pieces, just crushes the air out of his lungs, and makes him want throw up. He’s… God-fucking-damnit.

Fucking Jensen.

“If you don’t know that by now I’d give my life for you…” He shakes his head silently. “God, Fuck you, man.”

 Jared gets up to make his way to the door because he’s _not_ going to sit here and prove Danneel right by crying like a little bitch and having Jensen call him a pussy.

He’s got one foot out of the door when he feels a hand at his wrist and another over his hand on the door knob.

“I’m sorry,” Jensen whispers, voice low, and mouth right up against his ear. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Jared blinks, but doesn’t resist when Jensen tugs him back fully into the room.

“Would you shut the door please?”

Jared shuts the door.

 “I know you… I know you’d be there Jared. I’ve known since the first day I met you. I wouldn’t have asked you to bond otherwise.”

Jared turns around quickly. “Then, what the fuck?”

“Danneel, just… she knows about things from my past. She just wants to make sure that you were the right pick for me, that’s all.”

“Well, if I wasn’t it’s a little too fucking late for that, isn’t it?” Jared spits out harshly, fists clenched so hard his knuckles are turning white. He can feel his eyes getting wet, he’s so _angry_ , and he blinks in frustration. He hasn’t cried since he was maybe six years old, he refuses to start again now.

“Hey, hey, hey… hey,” Jensen says softly, putting his hands on Jared’s biceps and squeezing lightly. He slides his palms up to cup Jared’s neck, thumbs right by his ears.

“Look at me, look at me,” Jensen demands quietly.

Jared does, because there’s nothing else he can do.

“You and me… she doesn’t know that. Okay? She knows me and Jase. She knows something that was- different than what this is.” 

Jensen rubs one thumb softly against Jared’s cheekbone as if to punctuate what he’s just said, and Jared doesn’t think, he just moves.

He kisses him. He crosses the small, _so small_ , space between their mouths and closes both his lips around Jensen’s full bottom one.

It’s quick, and soft, chaste even, but it feels so… fucking… amazing.

Jensen’s palms against his neck, fingers on his face like points of fire, lighting up beneath his skin.

It’s over almost as quickly as it started. Jared pulls back, but not away. Not sure how Jensen will take it, not sure how even he feels about it, other than, Jesus _, more._

But Jensen doesn’t do much of anything. He sighs softly, and the look in his deep, green eyes is sort of resigned, sort of regretful. 

Jensen leans forward to lay a gentle kiss against Jared’s forehead and Jared involuntarily closes his eyes.

Then Jensen whispers, “Go to sleep, Jared,” and pushes him toward his rack.

Jared is so tired, so drained from this entire episode that he just… does.

&&&

JENSEN

The kiss was just as much expected as completely unexpected. He’s been getting these soft, warm, happy feelings from Jared that are completely unlike anything he’s ever picked up from him before, but he figured Jared was just falling into being a sub. It usually is a really good experience when you and your bonded fall into sync. It felt like everything was right with the world when he and Jason were on the same page.

It’s just they were so often _not_ on the same page.

But he and Jared have been, and he figured that was it. It wasn’t until chow with Danny that Jensen started to realize that this feeling maybe had something to do with him. When Jared kissed him he’d already accepted the fact that it was a possibility. One in a group of many, many others, but a possibility all the same. 

He hadn’t gotten to figuring out how he felt about it being a possibility until Jared’s lips were against his, soft, and warm, and slow, and _god_ so unbelievably sweet.

Jared wasn’t even… he isn’t even… but Jensen needs it now. He needs now, what he didn’t even know he wanted two days ago. 

And Jared isn’t Jason, _(God, please, please, don’t let him be like Jason)_ , but with the whole wanting to kiss Jared again and keep kissing him until the world fucking ends, he thinks he might _want_ the bond he didn’t know he needed two years ago.

&&&

JARED

“Go Fish.”

“I hate this game.”

“Yeah, I thought we were playing bullshit. This game is wack, yo.”

“Chad, your whisky tango ass needs to stop.”

“Seriously.”

“But-”

“No… you’re so ridiculously white, it’s not even funny. And I can say that, because I’m Asian.”

“You’re Russian.”

“Yes.”

“So you’re Russian! Which is white!”

“Mmmm, no I’m going to have to go with Mischa on this one. Just because it’s Eastern Asian doesn’t mean it’s not Asian,” Jared contributes.

“Russia is _not_ East Asia.”

“But Siberia kind of is,” Welling pipes up.

“And Siberia is _in_ Russia. This makes Russia “East Asia”, which makes me Asian, which makes you wrong, and still white.”

“Are we done playing this game? No one’s asked anyone to Go Fish in a really long time.”

“Yeah, I vote stopping,” Jared agrees with Tom.

“You guys have no appreciation for the sacred game of Go Fish.”

“Collins, you are a fuckin’ nut job,” Chad says, shaking his head. But he’s almost smiling, so he isn’t nearly as annoyed as he’s making out to be.

“Maybe. At least I’m not pussy whipped like you, though,” Mischa singsongs, smirking.

“Pussy whipped? God, I wish.”

“Are you kidding me, Murray? You haven’t hit that yet?” Tom asks, a hilarious amount of scandal infused into his voice.

“Been a bit too busy with the bonding process to start fucking like rabbits, Tom,” Chad barks out with a quick shrug. “We’re not Kane and Carlson.”

Tom just shrugs.

“And anyway it’s not like you can’t have a bond without fucking each other,” Mischa comments.

“No, you can. Mike’s making the effort, that’s for damn sure.” At this Tom almost pouts.

Chad bursts out laughing. “Yeah, I guess everyone isn’t like Kane and Carlson. But the amount of bondeds that do bone are probably way more than the ones that don’t.

“Me and Jensen aren’t fucking.” 

And it sounds weird coming out of his mouth, but for some reason Jared feels the need to say it. 

Things are silent for a minute and then, “Are you kidding me, Jay?”

Jared shoots Chad a look and Chad deflates, but Tom’s still got his confused eyebrow raised, and Mischa is looking _far_ too intrigued.

“What?”

“You and Sarge aren’t…” Tom hedges.

“No.”

“Are you sure?” Mischa questions.

“What do you mean, am I sure? Of course I’m sure. I’m sure. We’re not fucking.”

“But you want to,” Chad sates.

“No.”

“ _He_ wants to.”

“No! No one wants to fuck anyone.”

“I highly doubt that,” Mischa says, reasonably.

It just annoys Jared.

“What makes you so sure we’re fucking?”

“You and Sarge are just like Kane and Carlson.” Chad punctuates his statement by flailing his hands back and forth. “Only they’re knowingly codependent and just don’t give a fuck who knows it. You and Sarge like… hide behind your man-pain, and angst all over each other instead.”

“Excuse me?”

“For some reason you both fight it, but your bodies don’t lie, Jay. You practically sit on top of each other during chow, and if there’s any more oblivious unnecessary touching I might go section eight.”

“Are you…” Jared starts, looking to Tom for help, but Tom’s finding the deck really interesting right about now. “Collins, what-”

But Mischa just shakes his head, no help at all.

Jared turns decisively toward Chad and glares at him. “Jensen and I are not fucking.”

“Pfft. Chyeah, okay. Whatever works for you. Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell is a thing of the past. That’s all I’m saying.”

Jared just sighs and rolls his eyes, dealing out a new hand to play bullshit.

Because he’s sure that’s just what this is. Bullshit.

Even with that kiss three days ago, Jared is nowhere near delusional enough to think he and Jensen are some kind of… anything. It was an impulse; a stupid, thoughtless, fucking ridiculous impulse.

And it’ll never happen again.

Jared ignores the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach at the knowledge that that kiss was the first and last time he’s going to get to touch Jensen that way.

It’s fine.

He’d never even thought it was a possibility until the other night, when it just… happened.

He can go back to that. He can forget.

He’s always been pretty good at that, anyway.


	7. Part 7

# PART 7

  
  


JENSEN

Jensen’s done recon like this before. He hasn’t been on one in a while (his duties have shifted since last year), but it feels like routine again as he loads the Jeep with the necessary artillery, calls in to the base through radio to check he’s got his planned back up, and hears the other three doors of the jeep slam as his grunts get in with him.

“Jackles, heading out for a routine scout of the hotspots surrounding Taipei at 1300. Repeat, Jackles out for a routine sweep at 1300, over.”

He waits for the static to calm, turns his dial to the right and left to make sure he gets the base as clear as possible, and hears a sharp;

“Copy that, Jackles. Expected  back on base at 1700 hours, three on board, three backup, Delta 2. Get on out there and slay that dragon, Sergeant.”

Jensen can tell it’s Staff Sergeant Morgan just by the gruff growl and grins in spite of himself. He’s not sure what the man is doing taking radio calls instead of doing any one of the other thousand duties he has as Staff Sergeant, but it’s like Papa Jeff to have his hands stuck firmly in every fucking thing. 

“Yessir,” Jensen answers.

“Morgan, out.”

Jensen sees the gates open, an armed officer waving them through. He takes that as his cue to rev the engine and does, peeling out of the base at speed enough to kick up dried mud from underneath the tires, and it feels good. It feels right, being out here again. He can feel Jared not too far away in the Jeep behind him, can taste the heaviness of rain in the air, and smell the thick scent of burning gasoline in his nose. There’s a steady stream of information coming over the radio as the Jeeps on patrol in the area keep in contact, the third Jeep behind him vigilant to any attack from a vantage point unseen. Even though Jensen’s burning up in his all his gear, sweat dripping steadily down his back and into the hollow of his throat, face surely streaked with dirt that’s stuck to his sweaty skin, he’s content. His senses are all sharpened, adrenaline pumping through his system, already preparing him for a fight as yet undetected. And he remembers that this is why he’s here. This is why he does what he does. This is what he was made for.

They’ve been riding steady for a good hour before Jensen finds himself getting bored of the monotonous view. There’s been nothing but land for miles, now. Dry, expectant earth and plots of green trying desperately to flourish in the heat without the deluge of rain that’s usually around this time of year. The ground is flat, the terrain the exact same no matter where he looks, and Jensen’s about ready to change course and go into the fucking mountains just for kicks, when Monty, one of the grunts in the back, his pointman, says he’s got to stop for a piss. Normally Jensen would just bark at him to hold it, but he knows it’s close to a planned rally point anyway, and he knows Monty knows that too.

“Jackles to Hitman2, we’re about three klicks away from RP1. We’re planning to stop, regroup, go over strategy, and pick up again at 1430.”

Jensen waits for the constant static to clear, looks over at his radioman, Skip, with a questioning eyebrow, just to make sure everything’s good. He gets a nod in response, and not long after the static clears out a bit, and he hears:

“Roger that, Jackles, this is Hitman2. We’ll take a quick loop around the perimeter once you stop, and come in to regroup as well.”

“Copy that, Hitman2. Pass the message on.”

“Roger that, Jackles. Charlie’s got word, and Flank’s coming in tight for the ride in.”

“Good man.”

Jensen drives for a few hundred meters more before he sees it, the overhang they’re using as a rally point. It’s big enough for some kind of cover on the patrol route, but small enough that it doesn’t call too much attention to itself.

Just as they’re starting to slow down a bit, Jensen relaxing his grip on the wheel, relaxing his guard like he knows he never should, he sees smoke in the distance.

He punches his radio in.

“Jackles, here. What’s going on out there? Someone talk to me. Hitman2, Flank? You getting anything?”

“Flank to Jackles, we’ve got what looks like enemy contact coming in at two ‘o clock. Four vehicles. Maybe two klicks out. They’re moving in fast.”

Jensen makes himself take a breath and slow his mind so he can think calmly, rationally. So he can get his men out of this with the least amount of damage possible.

“Jackles to Hitman2, we got potential enemy contact at two o’ clock. Four vehicles. Two klicks out. Coming in quick. Look sharp.”

“Copy that, Jackles. Hitman 2’s got eye on the target. Locked and loaded.”

Jensen’s heart beat quickens as the enemy (potential) comes into view, and it’s clear now, once he sees them, that they are the enemy. None of those vehicles are standard issue for their base, and they’ve got Type 63’s, artillery that looks nothing like their own. 

“Verified enemy coming in at one o’clock. Jackles to Hitman2, enemy at one o’clock. Four 63’s. Not a klick out.”

“Carson, enemy contact on right. Four 63’s. 500 meters. Hitman2. Roger that.”

Jensen hears the sudden cacophony of sound as the fifty is fired, and then all hell breaks loose.

It’s every man on guard, rifle up, and aim true. There’s constant feedback over the radio, most of it static now as the sound of rapid fire overpowers everything. Jensen hears the SRAW go off, ear bursting loud, and sees a truck and 63 get blown to pieces. Over the radio:

“Yeah, Get Some!!!” 

“Fuckin’ Get Some!!!”

“Eat metal ya’ yellow bastards!”

His point’s got eyes and rifle out the window, radioman working overtime to keep communication open, and Jensen’s doing his best to keep an eye on every-fucking-thing so he’ll know who to direct next.

The threat is seemingly taken care of quickly. The enemy goes down hard, 63’s strapped onto broken down farm trucks no match for the SRAW, but they’ve got to keep eyes open.

“Jackles to Flank, any contact on the left?”

“Flank to Jackles, we’re all clear.”

“Copy that, Jackles to Hitman2, we clear?”

“Hitman2, here, we’re clear.”

“Delta2 pushing forward and looping back to base, Read me?”

“Copy that, Jackles, we’re on your t- oh shit!”

“Hitman2?”

“Jackles, we got a man down. Repeat, Charlie’s got a man down, they’re stopping at RP1.”

Jensen sighs, eyes closing for a quick second before he makes a decision.

“Push, keep moving, don’t you dare stop.”

He watches as his Cover and Flank start to slow down. Fuck. This is the kind of shit that gets people killed.

“I said move, damnit! Push, push, get out of the kill zone, now!”

“Roger that, Sarge.”

Jensen gets them out about three hundred meters before calling out to stop.

“Stop! Stop your vehicles!”

He hops out of the Jeep, heading over to the last Jeep in their patrol line, the tail-end Charlie. The jeep looks no worse for wear so whatever got him, got a pretty clean shot, without much error.

He walks up to the Jeep, and sees a man down on the ground.

“Get him up, come on, get him up here,” Jensen orders.

He helps haul the grunt onto the back of the Jeep.

“He was drivin’ and all of a sudden he just fell back and out,” another grunt from the Charlie says.

The grunt, Anderson, Jensen’s mind offers, looks pale and winded, but not much worse.

“He got blasted, man. But we smoked those fuckin’ commies!” 

Jensen shoots annoyed glare at the kid who just won’t shut up. Now is not the time.

He’s moves further into Anderson’s space, hovering a bit, before putting two fingers to Anderson’s pulse point.

He sighs in relief when he feels a steady throb and movement under his fingertips.

“He’s fine. Was probably just the impact that knocked him out. Is anyone else hit?” Jensen asks his platoon at large. 

“No? Good, team leaders, we’ll wrap up when we get back to base. We need to get Anderson to Doc as soon as possible. So, let’s put the pedal to the medal, ladies. Maybe we’ll get some down time before chow.”

Jensen turns to head back toward his Jeep. His mind is already on getting back to the base unseen, unheard, and in one piece, when he hears a sudden crack and whoosh split the air and slice the companionable chatter in two.

“Auuuuggghhh!”

Out of the corner of his eye he sees a grunt drop where he stands, blood spurting in a bright, messy arc from his leg. He twists to clutch his left shin as he sinks to the ground, and Jensen searches immediately for the enemy. They shot one of his at point blank, and that means war. He turns frantically, this way and that, trying to pinpoint where the sons of bitches are when he hears the sound again.

“Auuuggghhh!”

The grunt who was hit before is hit again, twisting in agony in the dirt, and there’s immediate chaos. His men just start shooting, hoping to hit something, but there’s nothing visible, they’re shooting at air, wasting precious ammo, and Jensen can’t allow that.

“Cease your fire! I said, Cease fire! We don’t know where the bullet’s coming from, we can’t-”

“Huuuuuuggghhh!”

There’s a second man down, and Jensen’s got no clue what the fuck is going on here. There’s no way anyone could make a shot like this from a distance where they weren’t visible unless-

“Sniper, fuck, fuck…”

And he’s on the move.

“Fuck, move out! Get to cover and move out! It’s an-”

“Ambush,” Jensen hears someone finish behind him, maybe a step or two to the left, in a hurry, just like him to get them the fuck out of there. He can feel that it’s Jared without even a conscious thought, relieved that he knows exactly where his bonded is, now. That he has him within reach.

“Ambush, it’s an ambush, let’s move!” he barks.

Another shot rings out and Jensen twists his head around despite himself. It’s a second shot to the second man down, and Jensen’s never been of the motto of every man for himself, but he knows the value of getting as many men out alive as he possibly can, and he can’t risk all of their lives just to save two. 

He _can’t._ He knows he can’t, but…

He can risk his own.

Jensen makes a swift decision to turn the other way, back to his men bleeding out on the ground. 

He yells out: “Go! Find cover, get into your Jeeps, and GO! Radio in for back up, but don’t you dare come back. That’s a direct order, you hear me?”

“But Sarge-”

“I said, that’s a direct order!” Jensen hollers back, as his men get farther and farther away, and he gets closer and closer to the Sniper’s range.

There’s a sudden snap of thunder in the air, lightning colors the sky two seconds later, and of fucking course, now is when that storm comes through. He’s not going to have any visibility out here, not any chance of finding safe cover if there’s rain adding to the chaos. His thoughts of planning are interrupted by someone calling his name.

“Jensen!”

Jensen turns to see Jared chasing after him, then running right beside him, with a look of utter terror on his face.

“What the fuck are you doing? The Jeep is that way?” He actually points in the opposite direction like Jensen doesn’t know that, and Jensen has to fight the urge to simultaneously punch him in the face, and kiss the fuck out of him. They don’t have time for either of those things right now.

“Jared, I’m not going to just leave them there.”

“They’re as good as dead, Jensen,” Jared starts, trying to actively pull him back now, trying to step in front of him.

“Then I’m not going to leave them there to die.” Jensen pulls his arm out of Jared’s grasp and starts moving again.

“Jensen, goddamnit, you’re being a fucking idiot!”

“Look, you don’t have to follow me. You shouldn’t. This isn’t your responsibility. You could die.”

Jensen turns completely then, breaking out in a run toward his grunts. 

There’s another crack of thunder in the sky, big, and loud, maybe forewarning, then the sky opens up and lets out a torrent of rain, a literal downpour. Jensen’s not been in it two seconds, and already he’s nearly soaked to the skin.

“So could you, asshole,” he thinks he hears Jared yell, and then he hears nothing but the click, whoosh of the sniper because he’s in range and this one takes no prisoners. 

He spares a second of terrified stillness as he realizes he’s just brought Jared into a battle that’s not his own, that’s nearly already lost, a battle that could (most likely) kill him, and then shakes it off, not able to process that and how to save the men bleeding out into the mud at the same time.

He hears the crack, whoosh of the rifle again, feels a slight pressure in his back as he leans down to heft one of his men up onto his left shoulder, but it goes away in short order, and he keeps on moving.

“Auuuuughh!”

He hears Jared scream in agony and it takes every single shred of willpower he has not to drop the grunt in his arms to the ground, and go back, and get Jared out of there.

Because Jensen knows he’s been hit. Him, Jensen , he’s been hit, he can feel it, how his hands are slightly less coordinated, a little weak, but he’s not feeling any pain, and he knows, he knows that Jared must be pushing himself to the limit. He can feel Jared’s heart beating faster than a humming bird’s wings, overworking so that Jared can do this, can handle this.

Jensen finally gets around the Jeep so that he’s out of range of the Sniper and drops the grunt into the cab of the truck.

The kid needs to have his wounds wrapped. His clothes are wet and cold, now, sticking to the blood caked holes in him. He needs meds. Fuck, he needs an ambulance.

But there’s no time, and Jensen knows it, so he turns back around, blinking rain out of his eyes, and pushing back to the scene as fast as he can.

He can’t hear anything anymore, not the sound of the sniper, not any cries of pain or rage.

He doesn’t allow himself to think of what that means. 

It’s literally pouring down now, which means the Sniper’s having just as poor visibility as he is. If he’s going to get out of this in one piece (hell, if he’s going to get out of this at all) now’s his time to move.

He pushes through the mud, sinking to his knees and forearms in a crawl as he gets closer to the second grunt that dropped. The sniper’s going to have an even harder time distinguishing him from the surrounding dirt if he’s getting down in it. Now that’s it wet enough for him to get muddy, he’s taking advantage of that too.

He can’t see Jared. He can feel him, though, and that’s the only thing that keeps him from flipping his shit. He reaches the grunt, lying unnaturally still, but when he puts two fingers to his pulse point he’s still got life under his fingers, and that’s all he needs to know to get moving.

Jensen hefts the kid onto his left shoulder and starts crawling back towards the Jeep with his weight half on top of him.

It’s not easy. Crawling in thick mud in a torrential downpour with the weight of a another man on his back might be one of the hardest things he’s ever done, but hands down, the hardest is hearing Jared cry out again, and _not going back to him_.

“Auuughuhuhu!”

He’s gasping for breath now, barely able to keep it together, not because he’s tired yet, though he should be. He knows it’s adrenaline keeping him going. No, he’s about to lose his shit because he didn’t feel any pressure that time. Absolutely none. Which means the Sniper is either shooting blindly, and caught Jared, or is directly targeting Jared, thinking he’s Jensen.

Neither of those things is good for Jared, but one of those situations is something he can work with to get Jared out of here, if he could just _move_ _faster._

The crawl feels like it’s taking forever. He’s got rain stinging his eyes, can taste blood on his lips, feel cold mud underneath his fingernails where he claws into the earth. 

“Huuuuugghguh!”

He can’t even really feel himself moving anymore. His only motivation is to get back to Jared. He can’t let him die out here. He _won’t_ let him die out here, and God, fuck, how many times has he been hit anyway?

Jensen hears the sound of an engine in the distance just as he reaches the Jeep, and lets the second man drop from his hands.

He’s got no time to waste in celebration, though, because Jared’s still out there somewhere, not moving, obviously, and nearly dead, and-

Jensen’s frantic thoughts come to a stop when he sees Jared, kneeling in the mud, head hanging onto his chest, and arms raised above his fucking head.

What the hell is he doing? Is trying to be a fucking road sign for this Sniper?

“Jared!” he shouts into the distance, making his way back to his bonded a final time in the mud as quick as he possibly can.

But it’s not quick enough because he hears another shot ring out, and feels pressure heavy enough that it might’ve snapped a bone in his right arm. And Jared goes down hard.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Jensen wants to just run, but he’s sure that would be an idiot move. The Sniper might be shooting at what he thinks is the enemy, not a sure target, and he needs to stay unseen as long as possible. It’s his only tactical advantage here.

He pushes through the mud to Jared’s side as quick as he can, fumbling shaking fingers to his bonded’s neck to feel for a pulse. It’s there, not as strong as he’d like, but there, and when Jensen barks out the order to move, Jared is able to shuffle slightly closer into his space, so he is movable.

“Jared, I’m not strong enough to crawl us both out of here. If we’re going to get out, we’re going to have to make a run for it. Just make a break, keep moving, serpentine. I know you can hardly move right now, but I need you push through it. I need you to _survive_. Do you hear me? You are _not_ dying here. I’m not going to let you.”

Jared’s breathing is coming quick and shallow, but he nods slowly, what looks like painfully, and chokes out; “You got it Sarge.”

Jensen takes a deep breath, quiets his mind of everything but getting out of here.

“On the count of three I’m going to get up, and pull you up with me. I need you to do your best to move. One… two… three!”

Jensen pushes up from the ground, feels sudden pressure skim across his left side, but pulls Jared’s arm over his shoulders and starts moving anyway. They don’t have time for him to stop when either of them gets hit. They don’t have time to do anything but keep moving.

Jensen stumbles with Jared’s weight in as much of a zigzag pattern as he can make at the moment, pushing those last final steps to hide behind the Jeep.

He sets Jared down on the ground, leans heavily against the Jeep door, and waits for help to come.

Jensen’s vision is coming in and out now that he’s not on the move, but Jared looks like he’s bleeding way too much, from way too many places. His side. His thigh, maybe. His arm.

None of the places look vital, but Jensen knows when you get holes punched into you like Swiss cheese it hurts just to stay conscious. And there’s always the threat of bleeding out.

He needs the Doc, and fast.

Jensen’s heart rate starts to pick up, and he can feel that Jared’s fighting for his life right now, his heart pumping overtime to work blood that’s not there through his system to try and start a healing. 

It’s making him weak. He feels like it’s taking all of his energy just to stay awake, and he doesn’t try once he sees Jeeps that look like his own.

The last thing Jensen thinks before he blacks out is that Jared can’t die; he can’t die, because Jensen can’t imagine a world where Jared doesn’t exist.


	8. Part 8

# PART 8

  
  


JARED

When he wakes up, Doc says he was lucky.

He doesn’t feel lucky. He feels like shit. He feels like he’s been run over by a field tractor. 

“Nnnnnnggghhaaaa,” he moans, just because he can.

“You’re going to be feeling the pain for the next few days, but I’m giving you Vicodin to keep you nice and doped up.”

“Bless you,” Jared croaks out, throat dry and feeling like sandpaper.

The Doc brings him a cup of water and a straw and Jared drinks from it gratefully.

“You’ve been out for about 48 hours now, your body replenishing the blood you lost, and helping to heal you. Thank god the Sergeant isn’t as hurt as you are, or you’d be dead for sure. You have three bullet holes in you, not counting the two phantom bullet holes from Sergeant Ackles. Your thigh, thank god it missed any major arteries or you’d be six feet under. Just muscle and tissue damage there. Your arm; broken in four places, but clean breaks, no shattering. Give you a sling, in a couple months you’ll be good as new. Your side; it went clean through, the bullet. It took a chunk out of you, but that’s all it did. Side swiped you, and hit no vital organs. Like I said… lucky.”

Jared nods and grunts. Yeah, three holes in him and none of them are damaging enough to keep him out of the game? He might have to become a praying man. 

“The damage done to Sergeant, it’ll give you pain and take energy for you to heal, but they only show up physically on _his_ body. I opened you up, cleaned you up, and wrapped you up, but you’ll have to stay pretty stationary for the next couple of weeks. No running out to be a hero, alright Private?” 

Doc gives him a knowing look, and a slight smile, leathery skin crinkling at the corners of his eyes.

“Yes, sir,” Jared responds. “What about…”

He’s hesitant to ask. Especially since his mind still feels fractured, like it’s been splattered into a million tiny pieces, his memory of the Sniper vague and cloudy. But he has to know. 

“So how’s the Sergeant, um… How’s Jensen?”

“Your bonded’s fine. He had a bullet in his back, lodged in the fatty tissue behind his pancreas. We put him right into surgery, got that sucker out of there. He’ll heal up nicely.”

“Good. That’s good. And the second bullet?”

“The second bullet just took a nice chunk out of his ass. Point of entry was perfect for skimming off a bit excess fat and nothing more. No harm done to his spine, or tailbone. It’ll leave a nice scar, but no other permanent damage. He’s obviously _feeling_ fine, if a bit worn out from the energy your body is taking from his to heal properly. Other than that he’s in fine shape. So fine a shape that he refused to stay in infirmary after the mandatory twelve hours. He’s back at regular duties-”

“What?” Jared tries to sit up in his outrage, but Doc sets a heavy hand on his chest and pushes him back down.

“- with the strictest of orders to remain as sedentary as possible. 

Jared snorts. “Oh yeah, that’ll keep him still. Orders from you.”

“Hey, now. I’m very respected here,” Doc says with a wink.

“I know you are Doc, I’m just…”

“You’re worried about him. Last time you saw he was bleeding out, and potentially dead, and you want to know that he’s alright.”

Jared nods silently, eyes trained on the deck and Doc’s muddy boots.

“It’s normal to feel that way Jared. He’s your bonded. He stayed the last two nights here, y’know.”

“I thought you discharged him to regular duties,” Jared says sharply, raising his head to look at Doc.

“I did. He stayed for you.”

Doc looks at him head on, eyes serious and somber like they almost never are.

Jared shakes his head confusedly. “Why would he do that?”

“You’re his bonded.” Doc says, like that means anything. “Why wouldn’t he?”

+++

He’s released from infirmary two days later to Chad with a wheelchair, crutches, a shower sling, a shitload of bandages, and a moderately sized jar of Vicodin.

It’s six days less than the civs get in their hospitals, but this is war, and Jared’s a sub as well as bonded. So on their account, he’s not only a marine (in the best physical shape he can possibly be in), but he’s a sub (made to endure the pain), and bonded (so likely to heal twice as fast). He’s allowed to sleep in his own goddamned bed.

Chad hovers like a mother hen for a good two hours before heading off to chow with the promise to be back in an hour to help Jared wash at the sink in the head. He can’t stand up properly on his own, is told he won’t be able to for at least a week, not without falling flat on his face, so he doesn’t say anything through the blush on his face when Chad ribs that he can help with those “hard to reach” spots.

He doesn’t know why Chad’s being so fucking good to him right now but he’s grateful. Especially since Jensen is nowhere to be found. He’s literally nowhere to be found, everywhere and nowhere when Jared asks around for him. Everyone’s seen him somewhere but no one’s talked to him, and no one ever knows where he is at that moment in time. 

It’d be creepy if Jared weren’t positive some real strategy went into figuring out exactly how to be a ghost on a base this small. Instead Jared’s just annoyed and frustrated, and grudgingly impressed.

He can’t stay out of bed long enough to track the asshole down and see that he’s okay for himself, so he’s just stuck in their room waiting for Jensen to come to him. He’s sure the man has to show up sometime. It’s his room, after all.

&&&

JENSEN

Jensen’s gotten good at coming into his quarters just as Jared falls asleep so he can do the same, and getting up and out just before Jared is fully conscious so he can get away. He only has a window of about five minutes in the mornings while Jared fights to stay asleep, but he’s long since perfected a five minute shower, shit n’ shave. 

He knows it’s cowardly.

He knows he’s hurting him.

He knows it’s no good for their bond or Jared’s healing for him to avoid all contact like this.

He doesn’t care.

Memories of Jason haunt him wherever he goes; his loud laughter, his bright smile, his warm brown eyes. Jensen remembers it all, right down to his first bonded’s very last breath, and Jared nearly _died_ four days ago, and he _can’t deal._

His chest feels like it’s caving in when he thinks about how close Jared had been to bleeding out, how close Jensen had been to losing another one. 

Losing Jared.

And that’s the real bitch of it all, because losing Jared… that would have destroyed him. 

The memories of Jason are bad enough. Remembering just how Jason died for him, in his place, is bad enough. Reliving it over and over again, only to have Jared come in and try to do the exact same thing is unbearable.

Because Jensen knows that Jared isn’t Jason. He knows it like he knows how to break down a M16 with his eyes closed. He knows it instinctively. It’s ingrained him, just how much Jared is _different._ But he also knows that given the situation again Jared would have done the exact same thing. Jared would put himself directly in harm’s way a thousand times over just to get Jensen out of there alive (And that _is_ like Jason).  And sure, it’s his job, but Jensen would never ask his bonded to offer himself up for a slaughter like that. He would never ask _Jared_ to. 

Jared.

Jared.

Jared.

Fuck, why’d he have to go and get himself punched full of holes for him? For Jensen? He’s not worth it, has never been worth that kind of dedication. And Jared is so… good. He’s just so good, and perfect, and _beautiful._ Goddamnit the boy is beautiful. 

Behind all of his walls, and his fucking defenses, the eye of the storm is just so ridiculously golden and Jensen has no idea what he would do without him.

He can’t actually breathe without him, now.

So he runs. 

He hides.

He ignores it all in the hopes that Jared gets the message and doesn’t come looking for him, because he might just fall to pieces if he has to look him in the eye.

+++

He manages to duck Jared for a solid week, using every single trick he knows, every attempt of subterfuge.

Jared catches him in the chow line, his first day back in the hall, with crutches instead of the wheelchair, and there’s no escaping him, not unless Jensen wants to forfeit his spot in line.

He considers it, but he’s hungry, damnit. He hasn’t eaten all day.

He stays in line.

“How long you going to ignore me?” Jensen hears Jared’s slightly raspy drawl from behind.

Jensen sighs, looks anywhere but at him. “As long you let me.”

“I’m afraid your time’s up then.”

“Jared-”

“No, hear me out. We don’t have to have a big huge discussion over this, right? I know what the deal is, so if you need your space, that’s fine, but the least you can do is fucking let me know where you are. I’m getting jumpy not knowing when or if you’ll be back at night. The only times I see you are in passing, fifty feet away, coming out of Admin or the shooting range. I can’t… Jensen I _can’t-_ ”

Jensen sighs again. He knows it’s got to be hell for Jared to be healing, his body needing Jensen’s close, and having Jensen give him the run around. But he can’t be in the same room with Jared without spilling his guts out onto the deck in a messy mix of shit that isn’t even going to make sense. It hardly makes sense to him. 

He’s not ready. 

He’s not ready.

He’s _terrified._

He shoots a quick glance to the right to see Jared looking disappointed and angry, his jaw a hard, sharp line to frame his pouty, downturned mouth, and Christ almighty, _fine_.

“Yes, okay, yes. I will talk to you. I’ll see you at quarters after chow, alright?”

Jared gives him a tight nod and Jensen walks out of the chow line, purposefully ignoring Jared’s fumbling with his tray and his crutches. 

He sits at a lone table in the corner and swiftly stuffs is face full of whatever’s on his tray, desperately trying not to look over at Jared the entire time. 

He knew once he saw Jared he’d give in. He _knew_ he wouldn’t be able to avoid this forever.

Fuck.

When he’s done, he makes his way back to quarters and waits. He knows that Jared’s not going to make him wait long.

“Why the fuck, Jensen?!” he hears Jared yell as the door to their room opens ten minutes later.

Jensen just sighs again.

“No, y’know what? Don’t tell me why. I _know_ why. Look, Jensen, I’m not Jase or whoever, okay? I didn’t jump into that sniper’s scope with the intention of dying.”

Jensen just raises an eyebrow.

“I get it, okay? You don’t have to fucking run away. You won’t be responsible for killing another one.”

Jared steps slowly but angrily over to his rack to sit and start fiddling with his crutches.

Jensen is sort of lost back at “intention of dying” (like it’s _ever_ intentional) when he hears “another one” and suddenly decides he’s had enough of the running.

Because Jared? With all of his bluster, and bravado, and righteous fury, _Jared_ , with all of his blushing cheekbones, and his lame trash-talk when they play cards (that he swears he picked up from Chad), and his hidden compassion for everyone; Jared is not, has never been, and never will be Jason.

And Jensen wants him anyway.

 “I’m not- I don’t-” Jensen tries to start, but God, where did his entire vocabulary go? His mouth is dry, and his heart beat’s kicking up, and what is he, having a fucking panic attack? 

“Jared you almost died. You. Not… not just my bonded. I couldn’t deal with losing you, especially not to something as stupid as a diversion to save me.”

“It’s what I’m made for,” Jared answers quietly.

“Yes, to protect me. Not to go on a kamikaze mission to keep me from getting a little scratched up. You get half of my injuries anyway, Jared.”

“I’m pretty sure scratched up is an understatement. I don’t make you invincible, Jensen.”

Jensen quirks a crooked, not quite there smile.

“Sometimes it feels like you do.”

Jared blinks. “What?”

Jensen stands up to cross the space to the front of Jared’s rack and settles himself in the space between Jared’s knees, rubbing his palm absently up and down Jared’s uninjured thigh.

“Jared,” Jensen tries to start again. Then he stops.

Fuck, he’s horrible at this.

He brings a hand up to cup Jared’s face, lets his thumb slide across that sharp, pink cheekbone, looks into Jared’s dark kaleidoscope eyes and just shakes his head silently.

“It’s you. I just… need you.”

And Jensen hasn’t said anything really, but Jared seems to get it anyway because he nods slightly.

“You’re just in there y’know? You dug up inside me, pushed underneath my skin and you just fucking _own_ me, man.”

Jared nods faster, opening and closing his mouth slightly like there are words just waiting on the tip of his tongue. 

When Jensen leans forward and seals their lips together he tastes the things that Jared isn’t saying and it’s perfect.

This moment, right here, his lips and five fingertips the only contact Jensen has with his perfect, beautiful boy, lights him up inside.

For the first time in what feels like a very long time Jensen feels _alive._

And he never wants to let that go.

                                                                                        **The End**

  
[Back To Masterpost](http://fairygrrl45.livejournal.com/36392.html)   
  


**Author's Note:**

> Credit to maybecatie for the basic idea of warbonds in the miltary. I'd like to thank first wendy and thehighwaywoman for everything they do every year to make this possible.  
> I want to thank my friend Devin who's beta and support I SERIOUSLY couldn't have done without.  
> I want to thank doneitall for the quick and dirty beta. I'd also like to give props to my flist for dealing  
> with my flailing.  
> This year's bigbang was a major undertaking, and I'm just so proud of the fact that it's done!  
> I DID IT AGAIN!


End file.
